


the glass tower

by ninefish



Series: if i stay here, trouble will find me [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin becomes a functioning human being?? imagine that, Bisexual Character, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, POV Experimental, Pre-Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker - Freeform, Slow Burn, Tags to be added, That's Not How The Force Works, Time Skips, cameos from various characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninefish/pseuds/ninefish
Summary: No one person or changed path could stop a galaxy-wide movement, and civil war inevitably arrived in the galaxy far, far away.Set ten years after the Trials of Mandalore.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Mace Windu, Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze, Darth Maul & Savage Opress, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Asajj Ventress
Series: if i stay here, trouble will find me [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719697
Comments: 32
Kudos: 97





	1. I: THE SENATOR FROM NABOO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's been a long ten years since Padmé and Anakin saw in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there!! (... general kenobi...)  
> me and my ridiculous au are back!  
> this is ending up being my most ambitious ensemble-cast fic yet so let's hope i don't butcher everyone's characters!!  
> thank you all for the support & i hope you enjoy :,)

Anakin walked into the senator’s office, trying to smooth his scowl into a more amicable grimace. It was just a simple mission to guard a senator for a brief period or so until a bill in the Senate passed. Or was voted down, Anakin supposed.

When he had asked the Jedi Council how long they supposed the mission would take, they merely shrugged. Anakin was all for the recent loosening of the Jedi Order, but sometimes it really just made the confusing nature of the Masters more so. He was antsy to get back to the Temple, to continue fixing up his Djem So footwork. That and Master Windu had finally agreed to begin teaching him Juyo last month, but of course, the Council had just chosen that moment to have him rush off to Force knew where. And just after Master Windu returned, they sent Anakin off to the Senate and Windu had to stay with the Council for whatever Council-ry sort of business they had. 

Anakin wondered when, between all this rushing around, the Jedi Council expected him to prepare for his Trials to become a full Knight. At least Master Windu had acted apologetic, promising that he was close.

Anakin was starting to suspect it was a conspiracy against him. After nine years of dabbling in the different forms, he _knew_ the form he’d been so starstruck by when he had watched Windu was Juyo or some variant of it. He no longer aspired to master it, Djem So far more fitting his style, but Anakin never balked at a challenge, and that form had been gnawing at his consciousness for years.

Between training for his hopefully up-coming trials and the committee meetings he’d somehow been dragged into participating in via comlink with a panel of Mandalore’s finest engineers and city planners, Anakin was pretty dead on his feet. Getting his hands on a steady caf supply had been a blessing from the Maker, but even that wasn’t enough from stumbling into the woman standing near the entrance of the office.

Or rather, Anakin dodged at the last moment, flailing with all the reflexes, the expert pilot he was, while the woman smoothly backed away, looking unimpressed. She was tall and lanky, smooth pale head adorned with purple tattoos. Eyes as cool as ice shards bored into him.

“Are _you_ the senator?” Anakin blurted out, giving the woman a second once-over. She was dressed in smart business attire, robes flowing loosely but not excessively. All in all, it was a bit understated for a senator. But he was in the senator’s office and she was the only one there, Anakin reasoned.

The woman lifted a bare brow, cool eyes piercing him. “Are _you_ the Jedi?” She scoffed, “You’re just a kid. Honestly, I don’t see why the Jedi Council saw fit to send you. I’m perfectly— ” 

_This better not be the senator._ Anakin scowled and pointedly ignored the age comment. “You’re awfully uncharismatic for a senator.”

The woman bristled, “well, you’re awfully antagonistic for a ‘keeper of the peace’.” 

“Now, now, Asajj. I know I complained earlier as well, but we should be grateful that the Council took my concerns seriously—” a new, placating voice interrupted, then promptly cut herself off, brown eyes widening. “Ani— Anakin?”

Anakin turned, the commanding yet gentle voice calling back a presence from his memories, from his dreams.

“ _Padmé_ ?” His voice cracked, unfitting of a Jedi Knight who was nineteen years old and most definitely beyond the realm of _voice cracks_.

It had been a long ten years, it seemed, for both of them. Anakin was . . . _taller_ than her. And yet she was still as beautiful as ever, the late afternoon sun casting barely a shadow on her graceful features. It was strange to see her hair in the moderately formal headdress of a senator, when he only remembered her either in the ornate dress of a Queen or her plain disguise of a handmaiden. This was somewhere between the two and Anakin was surprised at how flattering it was. He was surprised he himself noticed and that that was now a thought process he was thinking far too much about and, oh Force, he should probably be talking right now.

Anakin realized his mouth was still slightly ajar from his exclamation and closed it. “It’s . . . nice to see you,” he fumbled hurriedly. Perfect save.

The stern, scolding look that had mixed with her surprise cracked and Padmé was _laughing_ and, Force, she truly was beautiful. Anakin was struck by the memory of watching her enter Watto’s shop that blistering day, the layer of thin sand that covered everything on Tatooine not enough to disguise the handmaiden’s ethereal look. 

Padmé smiled at him, “it’s good to see you as well, Anakin.” A look of concern crossed her face, “sorry, would you prefer I call you Knight Skywalker?”

Anakin waved her concern away. “Anakin is fine. I’m not a Jedi Knight, yet, anyway.”

The woman standing, a touch protectively, over Padmé’s shoulder scowled more. “You’re not a full Knight? Where’s your Master?”

Anakin bristled at the tone, and made himself relax. He had to think of what Master Windu would do. And something about the woman— Asajj, Padmé had called her— seemed strangely perceptive. The emphasis she had placed on _Master_ — Anakin was intrigued. Not many civilians knew of the subtleties of the Jedi Order, preferring to think of them as mystical knights with unknown powers. Anakin had to admit that some of his childhood fantasies would’ve preferred knowing that was the true nature of the Order.

He forced an amicable expression on his face. “My Master has other business, but he and the Council trust me to be here. I hope you will as well.” 

“Of course,” Padmé intervened. She gave a warm smile to the two of them that thinly veiled her unyielding expectation of civil behavior. “Ani, please, this is Asajj Ventress. She’s been my intern for a few years, now, and a bit of my own political apprentice.” 

Anakin met Asajj’s eyes, and she seemed to find something she liked because she gave a curt nod and silently backed down.

He turned back to Padmé. “Can you tell me about the attack?”

Padmé nodded. “It was a coordinated attack. It blew up my shuttle on the landing pad and, I believe, was supposed to kill me. Will you help me find who it was?”

Anakin hesitated. As much as it was his instinct to help Padmé, the Council had been clear that this was just to be a protection mission. It was his first time on his own— normally even senior Padawans were either under their Master or another Knight’s tutelage— and he loathed to imagine the utter look of disappointment on Master Windu’s face if he directly disobeyed the Council.

He told Padmé as much and her expression immediately hardened to what he imagined the Senate floor saw.

“I told the Council that I don’t _need_ more protection. I just met with Captain Typho about the security detail and Asajj here is another layer of protection,” Padmé frowned.

Asajj gave another clipped nod, “I packed a bag from my apartment and should be able to stay with you until this blows over, Padmé.” A look passed between them and Padmé seemed to relax slightly at the reassurance.

Anakin looked back at Asajj, reevaluating what he saw. Sure, she was muscular and definitely had a sharpness to her that silently warned of _danger_ , but Anakin could expect to feel the same vibe from any other crafty politician— there was no surprise in Asajj being an intern, then. There was nothing in the Force to suggest that she was extraordinary— or she was no substitute for a Jedi, at least. But there was an implicit trust between the two women. Perhaps Anakin could use that to his advantage.

Anakin knew Master Windu would want him to follow the Council’s orders to the word. _Additional security_ and that was all. Windu did always say that it was always in between the lines that Anakin got into mischief.

But wasn’t finding out specifically _who_ was targeting Padmé the best way to then figure out how to protect her? You wouldn’t use a womp rat to stop a lava flea-shaped hole. He had the sinking feeling that the Masters wouldn’t see it that way. But perhaps there was a workaround.

“We can work out the specifics tomorrow? I want to spend the evening examining your apartment for any areas that might be weak,” Anakin offered, doing his best to negotiate.

To his relief, Padmé acquiesced in his suggestion.

“I’m exhausted from today’s session, anyway. Let me show you to my apartment, then,” Padmé sighed and opened the door. Anakin followed, feeling Asajj’s eyes burn into the back of his skull.

“What are you doing, standing around here. Don’t you have some terrorist-hunting job to do, you know, for my government?” Satine teased. Obi-Wan fidgeted across the counter to her in Satine’s modest kitchen.

Obi-Wan reached forward, kissing the corner of her mouth in a winning attempt to distract her. It hardly worked but he always had to try. “And I thought _you_ were spending the afternoon with your lovely nephew for Bo?” Obi-Wan offered.

While Bo continued to lead her group of Nite Owls, helping to train the police force— not always to Chief Ude’tuun’s joy, but he grudgingly allowed it— she also helped teach at the Royal Academy of Government. To Satine’s pleasure, Korkie, their only nephew, had taken after his aunts in that he found government fascinating. To Satine’s dismay, he unfortunately seemed to find Bo’s form of diplomacy, through jetpacks and well-placed kicks, far more invigorating than the sort Satine did. 

But Satine was far from trying to exclude Bo anymore and had acquiesced to Korkie moving out of public housing to live with Bo. As a minor though, it meant that whenever Bo did happen to go off to her “diplomatic engagements”, oftentimes with Obi-Wan, Satine and Korkie had bonding nights.

Which was also partially why Satine was so surprised to see Obi-Wan now.

“I just wanted to let you know how the potential lead about the underground seperatist munitions trading circuit is giong,” Obi-Wan shrugged against her.

“Couldn’t you just send me the report?” Satine asked, a smile twitching at her mouth despite her best attempts to act stern. “Go help Bo.”

“Soon,” Obi-Wan said, muffling his face in her neck. “Aren’t I also allowed to appreciate my wife?” Satine wasn’t able to stop a surprised laugh when she felt his beard tickle her. A warmth bubbled in her chest. It really was fantastic to see how Obi had grown. Sometimes it still just felt like that night when they snuck away and exchanged their vows, full of giddy excitement and secrecy.

There was a sort of satisfaction to look at Obi-Wan and be able to think that he was, by the laws of her people and their tradition, _hers_. 

“Aunt Satine,” Korkie stood in the doorway, a bit awkward in his teenage gangliness. “It’s your turn in chess.” His pale blue eyes glanced to Obi-Wan, amused knowing in his look.

“I’ll come soon,” Satine waved him off fondly.

There was a strange light in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

“What is it?” She pried.

“He’s not the little kid we used to look after anymore, is he?” Obi-Wan mused. At seventeen, Korkie was beginning to near Satine’s own height.

She smiled wistfully, “indeed.”

“Satine,” Obi-Wan hesitated. He fidgeted with his hands. “Have you ever thought about us having children?”

Satine blinked, sidelined by the sudden question. “I . . . I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” she filibustered. Stars, _children?_

Sure, children were a fundamental part of the Mandalorian vows and their people, especially after the wars, treasured them more than many species, but Satine supposed she had never truly sat down to think of it. Leading her people had felt a bit like what she imagined child-rearing to be like, what with having Korkie to look after on the side as well. But to actually have a child— to feel it growing within her— 

Well, hadn’t she had an opportunity to raise someone before? Her little sister. _Bo_. No, she didn’t think she’d make a good mother.

“I . . . can we talk about this later, Obi? In private?” Satine nodded her head to the other room where Korkie waited.

“Of course. I’m sorry, I was just . . . thinking,” Obi-Wan mused. Satine realized with surprise that his intent focus, the way he set his shoulders . . . it had taken him a while to muster up the urge to ask her.

“Do you want children?” Satine asked, unable to stop the slight tone of incredulity.

Perhaps it had been selfish of her to assume that he wouldn’t want . . . considering the Jedi Code. It was a stupid excuse to herself, Satine realized. Certainly, the Code had begun to change, in part with help from Obi-Wan, and children were not inherently out of the question, but less than ten years of change did not undo a thousand years of tradition.

“Yes, of course. Would you not? I think we would be good parents,” Obi-Wan said, a bit desperately. As if he had something to prove. As if he’d anticipated that Satine would think him a poor father. Sympathy and guilt wrenched in her chest.

“Oh, Obi,” Satine sighed, gently caressing his cheek. He sighed into her touch. “I know we would be good parents, and we would try our best. But I can’t talk about it right now.”

Obi-Wan nodded, withdrawing a bit. “I understand. I’m sorry for pushing this suddenly onto you.” An unreadable expression shadowed his face. Satine leaned forward, resting her head against his chest reassuringly.

“Don’t apologize for asking. We _will_ talk about this,” she promised him, wanting to be able to smooth away the furrows in Obi-Wan’s brow. “I just need to give it some thought. And I do have a chess game to be getting back to.” His mouth quirked in a weak laugh.

Sometimes, it was still surprising to realize that they had been together for years, _married_ for years. They were growing older, despite the part of Satine that would always remember that year running abroad like the whole galaxy was against them. If they were going to discuss children it would be now.

Obi-Wan gave a faint smile, slightly forced on his part. “Thank you, love.” He pecked her on the lips, “I love you.”  
“I love you, too,” Satine murmured. Obi-Wan pulled away and left, and she was left standing alone, pondering.

 _We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything and we will raise our children as warriors_ — those were the words they had whispered to each other, a sealing promise under Mandalorian law.

It was almost strange, in retrospect, that Satine— in all her years in striving to be the best she could be for her people— had never truly yearned for a child. After reconnecting with Bo, the troublesome aspects of parenthood were only more apparent to her. Hadn’t her mother’s passing and father’s inability to look after his children while ruling their people been the cause of their fallout? 

Satine had spent so much time with Adonai Kryze, the warlord, she’d never really known Adonai Kryze, the father.

“Er, Aunt Satine?” a voice called, interrupting her thoughts.

Satine jumped slightly, “sorry. Coming, darling!”

* * *

The warm mug of tea was a comfort to his cold fingers and Anakin accepted it gratefully from Padmé. She settled across from him in the living room, tucking her own cup onto a pillow that rested in her lap comfortably.

Anakin found it interesting to think Padmé was surrounded by people who would do her bidding— even off the planet she’d been the queen of— and yet she chose to pour her own tea to her guests. One of her handmaidens, Dormé, if Anakin remembered properly, stood by the door, uncalled upon.

With a pang, Anakin thought his mother would like Padmé— it’d been far too long since he’d gotten time to visit her and the Lars.

“Thank you,” he tried to give a smile that conveyed ease. “So, can you tell me a bit more about the bill that’s on the table? Why would someone be targeting you for it?” A bit guilty, Anakin remembered Obi-Wan specifically scolding him about keeping up with current events.

Padmé doesn’t seem to notice any agitation and nods. “In the past weeks, the planets that align with the separatist movement have been tightening their coordination and the Senate finally has the initiative to act upon it.” Her expression tightened, “the only problem is that too many of them only seem to see violent reactions as our path forward. They wish to create an army for the Republic.”

Well, that didn’t sound _too_ bad. Anakin could only imagine how useful having an army in place would have been during the Trade Federation’s blockade over Naboo— they could have fought the bastards before so they’d invaded Naboo and so many people had died. Maybe then, Master Qui-Gon wouldn’t have died.

Something on his face must have hinted at his thoughts and Padmé quirked an eyebrow. “Well?”

Anakin hesitated, “well . . . what would be so bad about that? Aren’t the Jedi essentially the same thing? At least it won’t be an army of people with lightsabers and the Force, if you’re worried about them being _too_ strong.”

Padmé shook her head, “no, that’s not the point, Ani. It’s the very act of passing this bill and making that declaration— we’d have to understand the fact that _we_ would be the ones antagonizing the separatists. The separatists . . . you have to understand that they’re people, too.”

Anakin blinked and behind his lids, he saw his friends and family in the desert. There had been far too many people that demanded that they weren’t people. _Belongings, not people._

Padmé continued, “in actuality, while their separation isn’t ideal, it would ultimately result in just different trade systems evolving, maybe more regulations with traveling between sectors. But if we take that step toward violence, toward pointing our guns at them, we invite bloodshed,” Padmé worried at her lip. “People don’t have to— _shouldn’t_ — die for this.” She blinked quickly and Anakin faintly remembered that a few of her officers had died in the explosion. Likely, they had been her friends.

He sat in silence, stunned. He wasn’t sure how to acknowledge the fact without sounding like an ass. It was almost incomprehensible to think that this was the girl who had looked at him with awe and confusion and insisted that there was no slavery within the Repbulic’s bounds.

Instead, she was a woman who’d clearly earned her place in the Senate despite her age. Well, Anakin considered, he supposed it wasn’t too hard to imagine. This _was_ the Padmé who’d walked up to the Trade Federation and spat in their face when they’d held her planet hostage.

Anakin finally cleared his throat. “Okay. Right.” He leaned forward, furrowing his brow, “so, who would want to kill you?”

Padmé looked away, idly wrapping her hands around her cup of tea, long forgotten. “I . . . I’m not entirely sure. Senator Organa and I have been leading the opposition to those who would have the bill passed, so I suppose I’m not entirely surprised the threats have happened . . .”

“Just not to the extent of someone trying to explode your ship?” Anakin asked.

She laughed lowly, “yes, that.”

Anakin searched his brain, trying to remember the various political alliances Master Windu had drilled him on at the beginning of his education as a Padawan. “Well, we know that the Trade Federation has a grudge against you. Could they have hired someone?”

Padmé rubbed her eyes. “I . . . I’m really not sure at this point.”

Anakin realized how exhausted she must be and guiltily stood. After all, she’d returned to Coruscant for Senate sessions and staying up late wouldn’t do any favors for her focus in the morning. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you up. Can I check your room and I’ll let you be? I’ll stay in the living room and keep watch during the night.”

“Of course, I’ll have someone bring down some blankets for you.” Padmé led him to her quarters, which were sparsely filled. Anakin supposed it would be, what with her regularly traveling between Coruscant and Naboo.

He reached out in the Force and felt for malicious intent. The only thing he sensed was the warmth of Padmé beside him and the guards below. There was only determination and resolve— no fear or overt sense of anticipation. That was good.

“It’s clear,” Anakin nodded at Padmé.

Her expression had relaxed from before. He could still feel her slight irritation in the Force from having to go through with the procedures, but it wasn’t aimed at him. Instead, Padmé smiled at him, “thank you, Ani.”

The nickname warmed him— he hadn’t been called that by anyone but his mother in a long time.

His eye covered the room once more, catching on a figure in the corner. “Is that . . . ?”

As if sensing his look, lights came to life across the dome of the figure and Anakin stared in disbelief as R2-D2 wheeled toward him gleefully, beeping in binary enthusiastically.

_Ani! Boy who blew up the battleship!_

Anakin flushed. “Hey, that was _one_ time and wasn’t even my fault.”

Padmé laughed. “So, it seems you both remember each other.” She patted him, “Artoo has been indispensable ever since I started traveling more as a senator.”

 _But no more battleships_ , Artoo beeped mournfully.

Anakin quirked an eyebrow at the droid, wishing he could communicate silently with him. Did Padmé know her droid was an adrenaline junkie?

“So, before you say something dumb like setting up survelliance over me while I sleep, know that Artoo’s been keeping watch every night and I’ve been fine,” Padmé said firmly.

Anakin sighed and resigned himself. He supposed there was no getting out of this arrangement. “Right, right. I trust _Artoo_ ,” he teased.

“You’d better,” Padmé smiled. She led him to the door. “Also, Asajj will be staying in the living room as well— try not to strangle each other.”

Anakin’s protest was cut off by Padmé’s laugh and closed door. Great.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he returned to the living room, but the lights had already been dimmed and two sleeping rolls were set up. The tea from before had been cleared away and the only one in the room was Asajj, fiddling with a blaster.

Anakin sat awkwardly across from her, painfully aware of the tension despite the admittedly comfortable blankets. But perhaps it had all been in his head. Asajj laughed, a rough sort of laugh, but there was warmth to it. 

“Loth-cat got your tongue?” she mocked.

Anakin scowled, unfreezing and readying his own things for sleep. “Shall we take shifts? I can take the first one?” He offered, trying to be accommodating.

Asajj scoffed. “What? Do you think I need my beauty sleep or something?”

Anakin groaned internally. Windu had always said his negotiation skills were shit. What did Padmé even see in the prickly young woman anyway?

“You’re thinking, _what does an amazing, beautiful senator like Padmé Amidala see in an asshole like me_ , right?” Asajj coolly said, smirked at Anakin’s guilty jolt. Laying her blaster down, she absentmindedly traced her fingers over her tattoos. “Sometimes, I wonder that as well.”

Anakin stared at her for a moment, her blue eyes dark. Huh. Perhaps she wasn’t so different from himself. Another lost child who had been found in the kind light that was Padmé.

“Well, you are right in that she’s amazing and beautiful,” Anakin shrugged nonchalantly. She looked over him, a small smile on her face. Yeah, he’d had the feeling she wasn’t really the touchy-feely type.

Asajj said, “that settles it, I’ll take the first shift—” She froze and Anakin felt the pull in the Force as well. _Danger_ it screamed in his mind.

They both jumped up and Anakin reached for his saber. His comm beeped rapidly with Artoo’s shouting. Without preamble, Anakin slammed the door open, flooding the room with light. Padmé jolted awake and his attention was drawn to the shadows dotting her bed.

He became aware of soft hissing and the Force guided his movements to the creatures. Anakin’s lightsaber becomes an arc around him as he cleanly killed the the bug-like creatures.

Anakin looked over Padmé quickly— she didn’t look injured. He raised his commlink and sent a message to Captain Typho to come if they hadn’t heard the commotion already. Despite being on-edge, it was Asajj who yanked him to attention.

“There’s someone _watching_ ,” she said urgently. Without further ado, she pulled her blaster to the window and shot outward. Glass shattered outward, but Anakin saw her target move away unscathed— a probe droid.

“Shit,” Asajj hissed. “Stay here,” she told Padmé and promptly ran out the window and cleanly jumped off the ledge. Anakin’s stomach nearly dropped until he saw that she’d grabbed onto the probe.

 _Holy shit._ Well— if Anakin had anything to say about Asajj Ventress, it was she had some fucking _guts_. Typho and a few guards reached the room and Anakin peered out, searching for where Asajj had flown off with the droid.

“Um, stay here,” he repeated her order to the others and followed Asajj’s path out the window. Propelling himself with the Force, he grabbed onto an empty speeder. It sparked to life under his hands and he raced after the distinctive blob of white that was Asajj grappling with the droid.

Anakin dodged throughout the stacked lanes of traffic of Coruscant and got close enough to follow behind Asajj. Her arms seemed to be shaking and he could see the faint trails of electricity radiating off the dome. Still, she clung on, dodging other speeders and signs.

The Force flared up and Anakin’s eyes were drawn to an indistinctive speeder with a figure within. The person shouldered something— _a blaster?_ — and he knew that was the assassin they were looking for.

Just as Anakin made to cut directly to the speeder, the droid Asajj had been hanging on took fire and deactivated. 

In almost slow motion, he saw her drop and he raced the speeder to her position. _Faster— faster—_

Anakin yelped a bit as Asajj hit the speeder. He did his best to cushion the impact, but he could tell it wasn’t the kindest of landings. But Asajj merely looked up and bared her teeth in a mix of a grimace and smile.

“Well, kid? What are you waiting for? I thought you were a good pilot?” She was already unholstering her blaster and shooting back at the assassin, who flew away. Asajj settled herself in the passenger seat and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Right. On it.”

As he dodged throughout traffic, flooring the thrust, Anakin realized that there was only one way Asajj knew about his flying. He was about to turn and ask if Padmé had _talked_ about him when Asajj reached over and yanked the wheel. The speeder turned and barely grazed a giant holoscreen.

“Eyes on the lane, kid,” Asajj bit out, knuckles whiter than usual around her blaster’s grip.

Anakin nodded and increased their speed as far as he could push it. They spun through lanes of traffic, the cacophony of honks and irritated shouts becoming a wash behind him. Asajj lifted her blaster, somehow holding it steady despite his erratic flying, and aimed for the runaway speeder.

She fired and sparks flew off a distant building. A second shot bounced off the windshield of the speeder, but the craft kept flying after a brief wobbling.

“Could you fly any shakier?” Asajj growled down at him.

He made to scowl at her but pulled himself back. _Focus._

Anakin took a deep breath, reaching out. _I am one with the Force._

“Are you fucking— are you _closing_ your eyes?” 

_And the Force is with me._

Flying speeders have never been Anakin’s favorite thing to do. They were too close to the swoop bikes he’d grown up riding. In speeders, he’s unable to separate from the world like from a cockpit— to see a situation as if he were a force beyond it. 

But Anakin’s hands finally relaxed and his touch became light. The machine was a part of him, and the bustling speeders and ships around them were an extension of that.

Anakin must have done something right because he heard Asajj grunt triumphantly. He opened his eyes and saw the speeder go down, its engine smoking. They nodded to each other and leaped out of the speeder into the alleyway.

They saw a figure stumble out of the crashed speeder, a human woman at second glance, holding onto her arm. She walked faster when she caught sight of them, limping heavily.

“Stop! It’s a dead end,” Asajj shouted, lifting her blaster.

Anakin reached out.

It was just like how Master Windu made him practice. Feel the person’s essence, surround it and hold it, and, without injuring it, _pull_. A living creature was a bit different from the raw eggs he’d practiced on, but how difficult could it be?

 _Don’t let it crack_. 

Pull.

The assassin flew toward them through the air, her back slamming into the rough Coruscanti cement. Asajj whistled, “not bad,” she muttered.

She ran forward, kicking the unused pistol from the would-be assassin’s hand and pointing her blaster at her head. “Who hired you to kill the Senator?”

The woman groaned in pain, looking in disgust at the two of them. “It was just a job,” she spat.

Asajj placed her boot firmly upon her shoulder, pinning her down. She winced harder. “I’ll ask you again,” Asajj hissed, “ _who_ hired you?”

She croaked out a laugh. “You stopped me— but they’ll just hire another one. More and more until she’s _dead_ — _ah_ —”

“I’ll put another blaster hole in someplace a little more essential than your shoulder next time I shoot, so tell me who hired you,” Asajj said. Anakin lingered behind her, a bit unsure of how to proceed. It seemed Asajj was doing plenty fine if the hesitation radiating off of the woman in the Force was anything to go by.

She was going to crack.

The woman grimaced, “shit— alright, it was a bounty hunter named—” Her voice broke and her body jolted.

Asajj leapt back to cover, but no more shots came. Anakin activated his saber just in time to see an armored figure leave from an adjacent rooftop. _A Mandalorian_ , he realized. He made to take after the figure when Asajj called for him.

“She’s dead,” Asajj announced, turning the woman’s head to the side to look at the projectile. Before their eyes, the woman’s human skin morphed into the darker green of a Clawdite.

“A changeling,” Anakin breathed. It was a good thing they had shot her down before she could disappear into the crowd.

“And a poison dart,” Asajj said, holding up a small dart and placing it in a sealed container. “This just keeps getting more interesting, doesn’t it?” she added dryly. She offered it to Anakin. “Here, you’ll have a better chance of finding where this comes from with the Jedi’s resources.”

Anakin nodded and took the container. “Let’s return to Padmé.”

* * *

Padawan Skywalker had left the Council chamber to return to guarding the senator, not before reporting what had happened and the poison dart in question to them. Obi-Wan now stood before them, projected to the Council.

“Whoever this is, it is no Mandalorian agent that we know of,” Obi-Wan spoke decisively. “There is no reason for Mandalorians loyal to the Duchess to wish to eliminate Senator Amidala.”

“Troubling this is. Trust you to identify the assassin, may I, Master Windu?” Master Yoda looked upon Mace, offering the sealed container with the poison dart. Such an elaborate plan with the involvement of an unknown Mandalorian was something the Council felt it prudent to involve themselves in, especially when it involved the military bill.

“It would be my pleasure,” Mace said, taking the container and observing it. It wasn’t of any make that he could recognize immediately.

“Very well. Resolved for now this meeting is,” Yoda nodded heavily. “Thank you, Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan nodded politely then disconnected. Over the years, it seemed the Council had taken a stance of mutual disregard to the wayward Jedi. As Obi-Wan had never shown any inclination toward the Dark or against the Republic, they were content to let him continue his stay on Mandalore. There hadn’t even been as much of a scandal as one would expect when the knight had gone and _married_ , out of his own choice.

Had it been a Jedi with a lesser reputation of holding the Code to such a standard, Mace wondered if the situation would have resolved itself in the same way.

It was all very unspoken still, yet the implications had grown that the Code had loosened. It was a living, breathing thing that changed as much as the Jedi that followed it, an idea that angered many of the older knights.

But for the moment, the Jedi Council continued its silence.

Mace sat up in his chair slightly. “If I may,” he called to his fellow Jedi. “I am aware that this is, for what we know, an isolated incident, but let us not forget that Senator Amidala is in opposition to the proposed Military Creation Act. The Republic having a military and going to war would incite galaxy-wide conflict— and the Sith thrive off conflict.

“It has been ten years since the Sith that killed Master Jinn appeared and was slayed, but we cannot underestimate what the Sith have been planning.”

To Mace’s surprise, it was Plo Koon who spoke up. “Master Windu, while we will do what we must to ensure Senator Amidala is not sabotaged, do not forget the Jedi, especially the Jedi Council, must remain impartial politically. It is the Senate that holds us accountable and should they deem an external army necessary to deal with the seperatist threat, it is our duty to uphold that.”

“And who holds the Senate accountable?” Mace asked, looking at his fellow Jedi in the eye. More than he’d like looked away. Master Yoda sighed on his cushion.

“We appreciate your concerns, Master Windu, but as of now, there has been little evidence that the Senate will make moves outside of its authority. Voting on this military bill is precisely their purpose,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi finally spoke, leveling a calm look at Mace. “There is even less evidence that the Sith have returned.”

Normally, Mace appreciated and looked to Mundi for his clear judgment. But something felt off to him and he couldn't let go of his concern. The dark clouded so much of their foresight.

Mace forced his jaw to relax and bowed his head. _Calm_. He did his best to radiate an unperturbed presence in the Force. “Very well. If the Council would excuse me then, I’d like to start on my investigation regarding the senator’s attempted assassination.”

He stood up and stormed off, seething silently. The Masters murmured behind him but he blocked it out.

Mace barely heard the call of Master Yoda behind him.

The Grand Master shuffled behind him, his back stooped. “Acted in anger, you did,” he admonished gruffly.

For a moment, Mace felt his automatic reaction of shame from his Padawan days of being scolded by Master Yoda. Then he released the frustration to the Force— there was no place for such emotion. And yet doing so only left a heavy weariness. If Mace had his way, Ki-Adi would be correct. But they had all felt the looming darkness in the Force.

“Master, why were we unable to see this attack on the senator?”

Yoda bowed his head, looking almost helpless in his smallness. “A disturbance in the Force, I sense. Cloak the future in uncertainty it does.”

Mace looked outside, to the bustling streets and skies of Coruscant below. Somewhere out there, his Padawan was on his first mission alone, making decisions and learning. Growing.

Was he really to be the Chosen One who would bring balance to the Force?

Mace had always taken great lengths to treat Anakin as he would any other Padawan. Certainly, he was a gifted, and perhaps would one day be an exceptional, duelist, and his connection with the Force was strong.

But he was also a human boy. So if he was to become some piece in an ancient prophecy, Mace would make sure that he was damn well prepared.

“The dark side grows. The prophecy may be nearing fruition,” he said, resigned.

Yoda hummed. He said, “yet future possibilities are sensed by the Dark Side only. To seek absolute answers, folly it would be. Worry for Padawan Skywalker you do, I know.”

Mace furrowed his brow. “I cannot help but at least acknowledge Master Jinn’s theory that Skywalker is the Chosen One of prophecy. To ignore it would be irresponsible of me.”

His Master set a knowing eye upon him. “Responsible, indeed, you are, young Windu.” He leaned on his staff slightly. “Out there, the Sith are. A certainty that is. To place our hope in young Skywalker . . . perhaps we must.”

Mace sighed. “Perhaps you are right.”

* * *

Anakin caught Asajj outside Padmé’s room and waved her over. There was something that had been bothering him throughout the night and his brain, kicked up on caf, was connecting dots.

“Hey, Asajj. Before the kouhuns reached Padmé— you reacted.” Anakin stared at her intently.

Asajj was cleaning her blaster, not looking at him. “What are you talking about, kid?”

Anakin frowned. Damn it— he wasn’t a kid— but that was beside the point. She was deflecting. He stepped forward, “you _sensed_ what was happening. Before I did.” The unspoken _and I’ve been training for ten years_ laid between them.

Asajj turned around, jaw set. “It was a coincidence.”

“You know I don’t buy that,” he said, gritting his teeth. “In the room, you also sensed the probe droid before I did as well. Twice? That’s no coincidence. You’re Force-sensitive. _Strongly_ sensitive.” His mind immediately jumped to wondering if Padmé knew.

“And if I am?” Asajj leans back, finished with cleaning her blaster, but pointedly not holstering it. “Would you drag me to your little Temple and make sit on cushions until my ass went numb and the world went dead?”

Anakin blinked, then shook his head, “what? No— I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t force you.” He considered what he’d learned. “Does Padmé know?” It was clear from her actions in the chase that Asajj cared for the senator— or, at least it was in her interest to not have her dead. But there could be a number of reasons for that.

“She probably suspects.” Asajj shrugged, “what can I say? She’s observant.” And the trail of bodies behind Asajj Ventress was a very long one. Even the most highly trained bodyguard wouldn’t be as efficient. There was something more to her— some would call it a sixth-sense.

Anakin knew better.

“So what do you want from her? Does she pay you? Are you trying to manipulate her?” He demanded.

Asajj laughed, but it was colder than before. “Who do you take me for?” She raised her fingers, checking them off. “What do I want from her? She’s technically my boss— I’m her intern.” Anakin bit back an incredulous laugh at that. “I only get paid in the sense that I have an apartment in Senate District— which, let me tell you, the prices aren’t cheap— and for my job as an intern. And am I trying to manipulate her?” Asajj rolled her eyes, “you’ve got a lot to learn, kid, if you think Padmé is the type to be pushed around.”

Anakin hesitated. No— of course not. Padmé was one of the strongest people he knew and Master Windu was his Master. The Force only seemed to reinforce Asajj’s words— she truly meant what she was saying, veiled in a layer of irritation.

Well, anger did always have a way of cutting to the root of someone’s belief. For now, it wasn’t productive to push it.

“Fine,” Anakin raised his hands in surrender. “I believe you.”

Asajj widened her eyes mockingly, exaggerating the curves of her tattoos. “ _Oh?_ Thank you so much, Master Jedi.”

Anakin rubbed the back of his head, “uh, right. Can I go in and talk to Padmé?”

She holstered her blaster again and stood back up. She stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Not that I could do anything to stop you.” She moved away back to the living room.

Anakin knocked on the door lightly and entered at Padmé’s response. She’d changed from her nightclothes into comfortable, but presentable clothes. He was impressed that she didn’t look as rattled as one might expect from someone who’d just survived an assassination attempt. 

Anakin eyed the room suspiciously. The broken window had already been covered up and there were guards positioned outside— still, if he had his way, Padmé would already be en route to Naboo with the heaviest protection detail they could muster.

“Ani,” Padmé smiled at him, her eyes soft. It made something twist in his stomach, a sort of anxiety that wasn’t wholly unpleasant. She offered a seat beside her on the bed and he sat, trying not to remember the forms of the creatures he’d sliced away from the sheets just hours ago.

“Um,” he said loudly. _What the hell was that, Skywalker?_ “Master Windu just told me that he’s tracked the dart to a planet called Kamino.”

Padmé smiled again, some of the softness fading to serious contemplation. “That’s good. Is there any way that you can convince them that I don’t need to return to Naboo?”

Anakin frowned and pulled away from her. “What?”

“Ani, I haven’t worked for over a year creating my arguments to just not be in the Senate when the Military Creation Act is on the floor,” Padmé said.

The nickname grated on him this time, more than her stubbornness. It ground something inside him to dust and made the giddy feeling dissipate. “Can you please not call me that?”

“What, ‘Ani’? Why?” Padmé looked confused. Upset.

 _Anakin, you’re not making sense_ , he could hear Master Kluub’s soothing voice in his head. _Explain yourself and people will understand_.

He ran a hand through his short hair, feeling his Padawan braid. “I— I don’t like the name.”

_I don’t like it when you say it. I don’t like it when it feels like there’s sand beneath my feet and in my lungs and the winds whisper that name to me because that was home but this is not family._

Padmé Amidala had grown. She was no longer the child queen. She was a woman and Anakin couldn’t help but feel as though they were strangers. But perhaps they could grow to be more from that.

“But isn’t Ani your name?” Padmé asked, softer now. Kind enough to realize that this wasn’t an easy topic for him.

Anakin looked away, embarrassed. “It’s Anakin. I’m not a child anymore.” He looked up at her, a bit bashfully. “And you’re not, either.”

Suddenly, Padmé looked unbelievably older. And sadder. Her shoulders slumped. “Anakin . . .” His name in her voice sounded like a melody, even the hard _k_ became soft from her mouth.

He leaned forward. Searching for what, he wasn’t sure.

But Padmé leaned back with him and frowned. “Anakin. I’m sorry, but I don’t like you like that. Right now . . . the world is too crazy,” she laughed, but it sounded a bit broken. _Right._ She was probably exhausted.

Anakin moved himself away quickly, embarrassed by how far he’d gone unconsciously. It was cruel to push this onto her after everything she’d been through. 

As for himself, he was still feeling the dregs of adrenaline that had surged through him. His mind wasn’t clear, as Master Kluub would scold him.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Padmé,” Anakin said, looking away. He didn’t want to see the disgust in her eyes.

Instead, he felt Padmé run her fingers through his hair and ruffle it fondly— like how she’d done on that ship all those years ago.

“I know, Anakin. And I know you’re not a little boy anymore, either,” she smiled knowingly. As soon as she’d touched him though, she moved away. “I’m going to go check in with Asajj and then try to get some sleep before the session today.”

He blinked to attention. “Right, uh. Good luck.” _‘Good luck’? Really?_ His ears burned at the sound of Padmé’s retreating laugh. It really _was_ beautiful.

Anakin stared into the remaining dark of the room and felt bereft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls excuse all the dialogue/ points taken from AoTC :,) hey at least i shortened that chase scene bc that was /way/ too long in the movie lol.  
> also! obi and satine got married!! woo... they're so cute (i'm planning on writing a oneshot showing how that happened, but for now, please forgive me for just hinting at it ;) )  
> my reasoning (if anyone was wondering) for anakin not ratting asajj out is bc he's kind of less of an impulsive dick as in the original movies (lol) and is tryna use his brain!! he wants to figure out if padmé is truly in danger or anything so,, yeah.  
> also, as i'm writing this as i go along, there will be noticeably larger gaps between updates,, sorry about that y'all!
> 
> anyhoo, if u read to the end of this, i'm on tumblr as [@ratpadawan](https://ratpadawan.tumblr.com)! come scream about obi-wan w me :,)
> 
> tysm for reading!!


	2. II: THE SUNS (THE SON)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin returns to Tatooine and the war draws nearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tw] - semi-graphic depiction of violence. please check updated work tags/ warnings.

Surrounded by the hum of an engine and the emptiness of space was normally when Anakin was most at peace. Feeling the cosmos around him was when he felt the freest, knowing he could press a few controls and be flying to anywhere— faster than the speed of light.

He was untouchable.

And yet—

 _Ani—_ Ani— 

For the past month, Anakin’s dreams had been plagued by nightmares. Sometimes they were nothing more than sensations— the grit of the earth against his cheek, the feeling of his hands bound. Other times he could see things, _haer_ things.

Most of the time all he could see was darkness, the faint hint at golden light. But the worst was when and what he could hear. It was usually nonsense— the delirious mumblings that desert wanderers often got. Heavy breathing in his ears. But there was always the voice that whispered his name that sent a chill down his spine because he _knew_ that voice.

_Mom._

He had a horrible feeling that something was going to happen to her.

Anakin awoke with a gasp, aware of the ship rumble around him and his sweat-soaked sheets. The ship’s noise was soft enough to only be a background hum at most. Damn Nubian ships were too well crafted. There was no comfort from the ship that hardly felt alive.

It’d been a few months since Anakin had been able to visit Tatooine and Lars' farm. They kept in touch with the communicator he had given them, but the connection was often spotty and prone to being buffered by sandstorms. The thought of those things didn’t help ease his racing mind.

He fumbled in his outer robes that he’d shoved his commlink into. Anakin gripped the small device and hurriedly switched on the frequency for the Lars, hands unusually shaky with adrenaline.

 _She’s fine_ , he repeated in his mind like a mantra, a prayer. There was no reason for Shmi to not be fine— Cliegg would have told him if anything happened.

There was nothing but static. _Shit_. The commlink probably wasn’t able to establish a long-range connection while in hyperspace. Anakin rolled haphazardly out of his cot, the sleeping quarters empty but for him. Well, at least no one had seen him nearly have a panic attack.

Stumbling out the quarters, Anakin searched for the communications server aboard. With such a new model, there had to be a signal he could tap his commlink into.

It took a few minutes of padding through the cold corridors, carefully avoiding other people, that he found the panel. Anakin was only partially aware how deranged he looked with only his shorts on and a commlink in hand. Sitting down against the ground was a relief to his overheated skin and he frantically opened his comm channel again.

_Mom._

It was dead air. Nothing.

Anakin closed the channel and tried again, but he was met with only static. Likely a sandstorm again.

Suddenly it felt as though there was too much and altogether not enough air in Anakin’s lungs. Force— what if something had happened? Storms could last for days— the worst, even weeks— on Tatooine.

Anakin tried steadying his breath, reaching out to the Force. Surely he could sense Shmi— that she was okay. _Calm, be calm._ And yet there was only the cold of space that answered him.

Almost automatically, Anakin’s hand programmed in the encrypted channel that reached the Jedi Temple. Master Kluub’s voice rang out.

“Anakin? Is there anything I can do for you?” Even the sound of the Twi’lek’s sonorous voice was grounding.

“You know the dreams I told you about?” Anakin said, curling further in the corner he’d sat in. He took a shaky breath. “They keep happening. And they’re getting worse.” His voice caught in his throat, “they scare me.”

“These dreams upset you— why do they scare you?” Kluub asked gently.

“Outside of just seeing and feeling my mom die?” Anakin laughed hallowly. “I hate how they repeat. I feel like I’m stuck in a loop and in them I’m just so helpless. I can’t _do_ anything.”

“The dreams a Jedi have can range from being ordinary to some who were more intune with the cosmic Force. I cannot speak to your current circumstances, but if you have any way to talk to someone close to you, a friend perhaps, not me, that may help you feel more proactive in your life,” Master Kluub encouraged. “Taking action, in any number of ways, can help you feel productive and may ease the sense of frustration you described.”

Anakin thought to the people he could contact. Master Windu was flying to, or was already, at Kamino, so not an option. His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of talking to Padmé about his dreams. So much of how they had met was tied to the desert— he blanched at the thought of tying her inextricably to it in his mind.

 _Obi-Wan . . ._ the thought crossed his mind. Well, Obi-Wan usually had good advice to give him. At least he was relatable.

Anakin realized he’d gone silent for a while and raised the commlink. “Right, thank you, Master. I’ll work on that.”

“Excellent. And do feel free to drop by when you return to Coruscant.”

“Of course,” Anakin smiled hollowly and closed the channel.

He heard the sound of feet approaching had just stood up from his cramped position as Padmé neared. “Are you all right? I heard voices, An . . . Anakin.” Her voice caught slightly on his name. He appreciated the effort. She was trying.

It only made Anakin feel worse that he didn’t particularly feel like unpacking the awkwardness between them at the moment.

He fidgeted. “I . . . it’s fine. I had to make a few calls.”

Padmé hesitated. She looked at his face in concern, “are you sure you’re alright? You’re sweaty—”

Anakin moved away quickly, trying to hold back a grimace. “I was just heading to the fresher.” She’d wanted space— he’d _give_ her space, damn it.

Her expression shuttered and she forced a tight smile. “Right. We’ll be arriving in Naboo in a few hours.”

Anakin nodded. “Thanks for letting me know.” He watched her leave, suddenly aware that he _did_ smell. He groaned and gently pounded his head to the wall. Great. He supposed he really should use the fresher.

* * *

Despite how antsy Anakin was to call Obi-Wan, he was swept up in the formal greetings of Nubian politics. It was nothing as elaborate as when Padmé had been queen, but it was still quite the procession. Seeing the many cheering faces, even some Gungans had surfaced to watch her arrival, Anakin felt more disconnected from the woman standing before him.

When he was a child, the many eyes upon them hadn’t fazed him. He’d been used to intrusive eyes and it was a welcome change for them to be joyful rather than appraising.

But this . . . this was different. This was the warmth of familiarity that shone for Padmé only.

After they’d left the public eye, Anakin found himself commenting. “They really love you.”

Padmé looked at him, surprised by the statement. But there was no greater intent behind the words— they’d simply tumbled out. Her expression softened. “They’re good people. That’s why I cannot let their lives be devastated by war,” she said.

* * *

Obi-Wan was just finishing up his morning katas when Anakin contacted him.

The flowing movements of Soresu never failed to center him. Despite distancing himself from the Jedi Council, he still considered himself a Jedi. It was just his influence lay within the sphere of Mandalore rather than the greater Republic. Indeed, the courtyard he practiced in and the whole of the community of their sector of Sundari had become a second home to him.

Several times, Obi-Wan had considered leaving the Order altogether, to join Satine fully. When they had eloped, he’d thought the decision had been made for him. And yet, perhaps it was the Force itself, telling him that his path with the Jedi was not yet complete. For now, Obi-Wan was content with the limbo he found himself in. He was with the woman he loved and . . . well, he was happy.

While he missed the familiarity of the Jedi Order, he wasn’t completely bereft. He had his meditation and katas.

His commlink beeped again, reminding him of its presence. Clipping his lightsaber back to his belt, Obi-Wan turned it over and realized it was Anakin’s channel. Strange. He opened the communicator and Anakin projected into his vision.

“Anakin?”

The young man looked exhausted, with bags under his eyes and his short hair sticking up at all angles. 

“Obi-Wan,” he said, sounding hoarse. Obi-Wan didn’t need to read the Force to feel the anxiety rolling off of him.

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, “what’s the matter?”

Anakin rubbed a hand over his face. “I— ” he hesitated, looking away. “Promise you won’t judge?” he asked softly.

“Of course not.” Obi-Wan resisted the temptation to make a witty comment. He knew when it was a bad time to rib Anakin.

“I . . . I keep having these dreams. Of my mom dying. And I think they’re going to come true,” Anakin said shakily. “I called Cliegg and there was no signal. I tried again once we landed on Naboo, but I think there’s a sandstorm blocking the signal or something. I can’t get the feeling that the dream was too real out of my head.”

Obi-Wan was about to ask if Anakin had told the Council or his mind healer about the dreams, when Count Dooku’s words came back to him.

_If you want to get something done— you must do it yourself._

He shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking of the Count. But . . . perhaps he had a point. The words came from him unbidden— “why don’t you go to Tatooine and stop it?”

“What?” Anakin stared at him in disbelief. “I . . . I can’t— I’m on a protection mission right now. Master Windu is counting on me.”

“We could both go,” Obi-Wan offered, warming to the idea. “At the very least we could go for a few hours— see what could potentially be the threat— then you could return. You might get another vision.”

Hadn’t he just been thinking of how grateful he was for his position? Why not use Obi-Wan’s position to help Anakin in this issue that was clearly worrying him? It hadn’t been the first time that Anakin had given Obi-Wan insight that had proven true— it wouldn’t hurt to visit the Lars’ homestead. When Obi-Wan had met Anakin’s mother and family, they had been nothing but kind and something twisted in him at the thought of doing nothing in the face of this threat.

“And, after all, seeing someone alive and well in the flesh is another feeling altogether,” Obi-Wan considered. And it had been some time since he had spent time with Anakin.

Anakin frowned. “I suppose you’re right. I would feel better knowing—” 

A pale hand appeared on his side of the transmission, teasingly ruffling his hair. The equally-pale owner appeared in-hologram, a woman with striking tattoos and eyes. Obi-Wan vaguely recalled her as being the Senator’s guard of some sort.

“What would you feel better knowing?” The woman asked.

Anakin scowled. “You were probably listening to every word, weren’t you?”

She shrugged cheerfully, “security risk.” Her expression set, “but you should know, if you need to leave, me and the others are more than capable of protecting the Senator.”

A look passed between them that seemed to be understanding.

“I’ll still need to check with Padmé,” Anakin finally said to the both of them.

“Contact me when, then. You’ll likely land on-world sooner than me from Mandalore, so I’ll meet you at the Lars’ residence,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded, then hesitated. 

“You’re rather sappy, you know that?” The woman teased.

He rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. “Oh, shut up.” The transmission ended.

Obi-Wan sat back, rubbing his beard. Anakin truly had grown up into a strong Jedi in the past years. He certainly wasn’t as standoffish as Obi-Wan had been in those years approaching his Trials. He’d been so full of expectations and frustrations, it was no wonder the Council hadn’t entrusted Anakin to him at the time.

Obi-Wan only hoped that Anakin’s Trials would pass without nearly as much grief as his had.

“What’s this I hear?” Satine’s voice interrupted his thoughts. She stood at the archway of the courtyard. “Are you going off-world again?”

“It should be brief— even less than when I have to visit Coruscant. I need to help Anakin with something,” Obi-Wan said. He caught the look in her eyes. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

She walked up to him, running his hands through his sweaty hair. Over the years, Obi-Wan had noticed that Satine always did enjoy touch. Both of them, perhaps, had been lacking in physical affection for so long in their lives, her as a Duchess required to be aloof and him as a Jedi, that they seized every moment of it that they could. He leaned into her slightly.

“Yes, well, you know I still worry,” Satine smiled gently against his head. 

“And I you,” Obi-Wan nuzzled her neck and she laughed at the sensation. As much as he respected the work she did and the principles she emphatically defended, it didn’t help the irrational part of him from thinking of ludicrous ideas when she was off leading meetings. Another reason he kept up with meditating and his katas.

“ _Obi_ — that tickles!” She pulled away from him slightly, face sobering. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten our discussion.” Satine cupped his face affectionately.

“Which one? We have so many,” Obi-Wan teased.

Satine said, “about . . . .” She touched her stomach hesitatingly. “If we want.”

Obi-Wan sobered, nodding. “Right. Thank you,” he kissed her gently. _Thank you_ , the gesture said.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten— he wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten the thought in the past months he’d been ruminating over it— but Obi-Wan had never been the best at bringing up things that considered his own wants.

_Thank you. For not forgetting. For not letting it slip away._

“Of course. I love you,” Satine said simply, as if it were a fact of nature. She wrapped her arms around him and he could feel her heartbeat.

“And I you,” he breathed, happy.

* * *

Padmé was walking the corridors of the palace, the great domes above filtering in the dusk light. How she had missed the faint smell of fresh sea air that seemed to give a rosy tinge to all of the residents of Theed. Even when Padmé was always elevated in the many sky-reaching buildings of Coruscant, she never felt quite so free as she was close to the earthy grounds and seas of Naboo.

But her evening stroll tonight was not one of pleasure. Asajj trailed a respectful distance behind her to let her think over what she had told her, but near enough to protect her should any of their security precautions fail.

As for the news . . . . Anakin wished to have leave to check on his family under reasonable suspicion on his part. In all her time dealing with the Jedi, Padmé had never had such a request— but Anakin always was an unconventional person. That podrace had only been the start.

Padmé’s instinct was to accept— after all, she’d hardly seen the reasoning for the extra protection in the first place— but something was holding her back. It took her a while to realize that it was a concern for Anakin. Of what he might find on Tatooine.

Perhaps it was not her place to try to protect him after she hadn’t stepped foot on the desert planet since she was fourteen, but part of being a queen was the desire to care for everyone she met. Even a former queen never forgot that. 

And even if Anakin truly had grown up, Padmé still found it difficult to forget that child that had looked up at her with such hope and adoration, whispering curiously of angels. It was harder to forget how exhausted he had looked that morning when they had flown into Theed— he hadn’t been sleeping well for many of the nights and Padmé suspected his desire to return to Tatooine was connected to it.

She had been horrified by the conditions that the people in the Outer Rim lived in— under the jurisdiction of the Hutts, no less. Padmé understood more now than then that there was little the Republic could do for treaties and trade agreements to stay intact, but it didn’t stop her from ruminating on what that could mean for Anakin’s family that had stayed there.

Thinking of the young man in question, she found him sitting on one of the many balconies overlooking the distantly roaring sea. He had shed the outer layer of his Jedi robes in the warm night air, and Padmé couldn’t help but think of how small the lack of extra clothing and his close-cropped hair made him seem. He wasn’t the small ball of energy and blond hair, looking ready to burst out of his skin, anymore. He’d grown into himself and seemed . . . quieter.

Was Anakin strong enough to face whatever could lay in Tatooine? Padmé hadn’t known him for so long . . . she couldn’t say.

He turned on the bench at the sound of her steps. “Are you well, Padmé?” he asked, guarded.

She nodded, tilting her head at the seat inquiringly. He moved to the side and Padmé sat next to him, quiet for a moment. There was something in the air even the fresh ocean breeze couldn’t mask. 

“What’s the matter?” Padmé asked gently.

Anakin bowed his head. “I feel like I’m failing you,” he said finally.

“What for?” She couldn’t think of anything that would cause 

“I . . .”

“And don’t say ‘you wouldn’t understand’. I haven’t spent the last fifteen years studying the constitution and dealing with countless assassination attempts for you to just block me out,” Padmé said insistently.

Something in Anakin’s expression crumbled and he sighed. “It’s my mom,” he said. He fiddled with his hands. “I think something’s going to happen to her. Something bad.” There was a dark look in his eye and he looked at her intently. “I have to make sure that she’s alright.”

There was no way Padmé could have said no. 

Hadn’t she feared for her family just as much when the blockade had cut her off from Naboo? The queen’s family were clear targets, and yet she’d held herself back, knowing that barging in would have done nothing for them. She’d fulfilled her duty, going beyond with the assistance of the Jedi. But Anakin was not as helpless as she had been as an alone, fourteen-year-old girl. And she did not want to be the duty that would hold him back from his family— not when she was no longer alone herself.

“Anakin,” Padmé said gently, “of course you may go to Tatooine. Asajj and I were planning to go up to the Lake Country here— it will be isolated enough that it should be easy enough to guard me there.”

“You’re sure?” Anakin hesitated, but she could practically see the anticipation building.

“ _Yes_ , I’ll be fine,” Padmé reassured. He fidgeted some more and she smiled, “do you want to head out now?”

He looked flustered, “if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not— take one of the shuttles in the Palace hanger, I insist.” Padmé stood, “we should make the preparations to leave as well.” She activated her comm-link to Captain Typho and asked him to ready two ships.

She made to leave Anakin to his thoughts when he reached out to her. His hand trembled, so unlike the sureness he’d exuded when protecting her. “Padmé— I don’t know how to thank you—” 

She covered his hand gently. “Come back safe.”

Anakin should have realized that something was wrong when there was suspiciously no smoke rising from the Lars’ homestead despite it nearing evening. By then, most Tatooine households would be burning their fires to cook meals.

As soon as the Nubian ship landed, two figures rushed out, one holding the worn down blaster that really functioned as a bantha prod and sand people deterrent than a weapon. They radiated fear. After the sand settled, Anakin recognized them as Owen and Beru.

Owen relaxed slightly when he saw it was Anakin descending from the ramp of the unknown ship, but it didn’t wipe away the fatigued look in his eyes.

The Force screamed in his mind— _something was wrong_. He couldn’t sense his mom anywhere on the farm. Well, that couldn’t necessarily be indicative of anything— Anakin knew Shmi liked keeping herself busy, enjoying the new freedom she had on the land they tentatively owned.

Anakin ran forward, grabbing Owen’s shoulders in a manner of greeting. “Owen! Where’s Shmi— where’s Cliegg—” 

“ _Ani_ — is that you?” Anakin recognized Cliegg’s call by now, but when he turned, the broken man before him was a stranger. He sat in a rustic hoverchair, body stiff with pain. Bandages covered his legs.

In a flash, Anakin understood the lost defeat on his face— for an independent farmer on Tatooine, having one’s mobility was essential to stay ahead of the Hutts’ taxations. Cliegg was lucky to have Owen and Beru around, but that belied the greater problem.

“Cliegg— _where is my mom?_ ” Anakin demanded.

Cliegg bent his head in grief. “I’m sorry, Ani. She had insisted on going out early as she did— but it was only until she hadn’t returned we followed her tracks. The Tuskens took her. We tried going after them— thirty or so of us and only four of us came back.”

It took him a moment to register Cliegg’s words. _Gone._

“I would’ve called you, but there were some terrible sandstorms. Right when they’d passed, a solar storm hit us and knocked out communications,” Cliegg said bitterly.

“How long has it been since she was taken?” Anakin asked hollowly. He was glad he hadn’t had a chance to eat since leaving Naboo— his stomach churned with nausea.

“About a week— some men are still out searching. I’d be there too if not for my leg,” he winced.

Anakin looked at Cliegg’s wound closer for the first time. It didn’t look good— Shmi had always been the best alternative to one of the elders who lived on the outskirts of the ports. 

“Owen— if you head onto my ship, there should be an aid kit with bacta. Be sure to apply it liberally to kill any infection,” Anakin said, the young man nodding gruffly and leaving. He looked to the horizon, seeing the dunes he’d flown around as a child. Somewhere out there, Shmi was there, injured.

Now that he was closer, beneath the layer of grief and distress that clung to the Lars’ home in the Force, he could feel it. _She was alive_. There was a pain that sharpened the edge of her consciousness, but she was alive.

“Where will you be going?” Cliegg asked, concern furrowing his brow.

“I’m going to find my mother,” Anakin touched his lightsaber at his hip distractedly. “She’s out there— I know it.”

“She may be . . . she may be dead,” Cliegg said hoarsely.

Anakin looked at him sharply. He had already resigned himself to her fate. Part of Anakin wanted to slap Cliegg for it, but the other part of him sympathized. Had he been in Cliegg’s position, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to stay so sure. Without the Force, he may have lost hope as well.

“I will find her,” Anakin said quietly, promising.

Cliegg looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded. “You ought to take my speeder bike. It’s out back.”

Anakin smiled gratefully at Beru, who had brought the bike around. 

The bike was old, as most of the things on the farm were, but well-cared for. Anakin even saw some adjustments he suspected were Owen’s working on it. Beru’s face was pale beneath her tan and even her strong figure from a life of working looked frail under the shadow of fear.

“You’ll bring her back, Anakin.” Beru spoke like her words were a statement. For her, there was no question of Anakin’s ability.

Anakin’s voice caught in his throat and he only managed a nod. He told himself it was the dryness of the atmosphere he was unused to. It was only when he pulled the sand-protective goggles that he allowed him to take in a deep breath, feeling his eyes burn. He started up the bike.

“Obi-Wan should be arriving soon. Let him know where I’ve gone when he lands?” Anakin asked Cliegg.

“Of course. May the twins watch over you,” Cliegg nodded gruffly. The old Tatooine blessing washed over Anakin and suddenly he was more grateful for the translucency of the goggles.

_Mom, I’m coming._

* * *

The suns had nearly finished setting when Anakin crossed the ridge near the Tusken Raider encampment. He could feel it in the Force— his mom was near.

Anakin dismounted from the speeder, doing his best to brush off the light layer of sand that had plastered itself to him. He quickly gave up and crept along the ridge. One dune over gave him a better vantage. With it, he also stumbled upon the corpses of three men— farmers, Anakin suspected from their worn clothes. They were unarmed— probably stripped for anything of value to be resold by the Tuskens.

Anakin crouched lower to the sand, feeling the heat of the day rise upward despite the cooling air. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as these men to be caught unaware. He watched the camp intently, watching.

He reached out in the Force, feeling for the warmth of Shmi’s presence. He brushed over the minds of the sand people— they were immersed in minute details, preparing for the night— Anakin didn’t care about that. Didn’t care about _them_. Master Windu said all life was precious, but how could he follow that when life itself seemed to disregard that?

And then Anakin felt Shmi.

She was in a tent near the fringe of the camp, barely gripping onto awareness, to life. The warmth his mother always carried so close to her, always there to comfort Anakin, had burned to a stub. Her pain was his own, leadening his limbs and filling him with aches. 

If being with Cliegg had reinvigorated Shmi with a new life, the Tuskens had beaten her to a dismal state worse than when they had been the property of the Hutts. What mindless violence had done this?

_What the fuck had they done to his mom?_

It was his dreams all over again.

It took all he could to wait for the Tuskens settle down to sleep, only a few groggily keeping watch. Perfect. He unclipped his lightsaber, leaving his deactivated as he quietly slid down the ridge. Rage made red prickle at the edge of his vision, but he forced himself to focus. He couldn’t waste time fighting when he could save his mother.

Anakin used his saber to cut into the thick tent, bending through the hole.

The sight was worse than his dreams. His heart caught in his throat and all he could hear was his heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he saw his mother tied up, _bound_ like an animal. He was torn between wanting to cry or scream.

“Mom . . .” Anakin breathed in horror. Quickly, he cut down Shmi, her bruised face falling into the torchlight. The welts on her arms from the ropes weren’t even the worst of her injuries, burns and bruises littering what her clothes lay bare. Some were scabbed, some still raw. 

“Mom, _mom_ — wake up, please.” He had to get her out of here, back to the farm, to heal her—

Shmi stirred in his arms, wincing. “Ani? Is that you?”

Anakin cupped her face gently. “I’m here, mom. You’re gonna be okay. Hang on— we’re going to leave and you’re going to get better, everyone’s waiting for you at home—”

“Oh, Ani. Have I told you how proud I am of you?” Shmi hoarsely asked.

Anakin felt his eyes burn. “Of course you have— yes.”

“Because I’m so proud of you. You need to know that,” Shmi said, reaching up and touching his. Her callouses didn’t give the same sense of security that they once did.

“You’ll be able to tell me again— you’ll be able to tell me that for a lot longer, mom, just _hang in there_ ,” Anakin insisted, unaware of the tears that fell down his face. He reached beneath Shmi to pick her up and he felt her shake in fatigued pain. “Hang in there, _please_ ,” he repeated, _begged_. In all his life, he had never seen his mother as someone fragile. Now, her body trembled.

“My son,” Shmi whispered, wiping away a tear from his face. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” Anakin said, shoulders shaking.

Those words should never sound like a farewell. And yet they did.

Anakin took a deep breath, steadying himself. Shmi breathed in with him. Another. And another. He stood, carrying his mother— _when had he gotten taller than her?_ — breathing heavily, _calm_. He and Shmi were there, the faint sounds of the camp outside the tent sounding like a world outside their bubble. Mother and son there, together, breathing.

He was going to do this. He was almost a Jedi— he was going to save his mother.

They both exhaled. Anakin prepared to dash to his speeder bike.

He breathed in steadily, again.

Shmi didn’t.

“Mom?” Anakin whispered, uncertain. His mom was silent. He shifted her in his arms, and she didn’t react. There was no wind inside the tent to fool him— her worn clothes were still, her chest froze. And her eyes— _her eyes_ — were stilled forever in the look of adoration and pain at him. “ _Mom._ ”

A burning sensation filled his chest and Anakin placed Shmi down gently, quietly. His fingers shook as he closed her eyes. _Mom._ It felt like something in his chest was splintering into a million pieces and he _couldn’t breathe—_

He left her there— _I’ll return for you_ — unable to see, to watch, through the tears filling his vision. He stumbled out into the camp— _to kill_ — trying to get air into his lungs. The cold desert air slammed into him, buffeting him around as though he’d lost all the bones in his body.

 _They killed her_ , Anakin’s mind whispered.

It felt as though there was simultaneously an inferno threatening to burst from him and an icy hand that clawed at his chest, demanding he raze the camp to the ground.

By now, Anakin could distantly hear the confused cries of the Tusken Raiders— he’d been found. Well, there was nothing more to be done, was there? There was no point in stealth, in _hiding_.

They had killed his mother.

Anakin looked to the closest sand person, their cloth-covered visage greeting him. The grunts were intelligible to him, but it sounded perplexed. As if he were watching from outside his body, Anakin saw himself unclip his lightsaber, illuminating his face in crackling blue. _He looked sad._ The Tusken’s voice became angered, antagonized. He saw several exchange angered signs.

“You’ve taken someone from me,” Anakin said slowly, staring into the dark goggles. “Do you understand that?”

It was clear the language barrier was mutual. But the anger was understandable even through that.

The Tusken raised their blaster but had hardly raised it to Anakin’s hip-level when his lightsaber cleanly sliced their arm off.

He turned to the roaring sound of other sand people, woken by the cries of the first. Quick signing was exchanged. He could fight them all— kill them all.

 _Do it_ , a voice whispered in the darkness.

Anakin could see himself doing it. His saber would slash through them all, his movements falling away from any form to just hacking. He could see himself closing himself off to the cries— as they changed from aggressive to fearful— pleading—

But part of him was still in the tent— arms cradled around Shmi as she breathed her last. _I love you._

Anakin could paint the sands red. If he killed them all, he’d be wading so deep in blood, even the moons would reflect in them.

But that was not what Shmi would want. His eyes felt dry and tight from the desert air and still tears prickled.

There was a proverb on Tatooine that “dark deeds were done at night, because the twins would see both sides and scorn”. But the proverb continued, saying “but the moon, in her heartbreak at the sight, wept and shattered into three”. He would not make the lingering spirit of Shmi weep for him.

“Leave here,” Anakin said, softly. By this point, a ring of the sand people’s warriors had gathered around him, waiting for him to move. _“Leave,_ ” he repeated, louder, activating his lightsaber again. Reaching out in the Force, Anakin impressed the message on them— _leave._

_Leave or I swear to the Force I will kill you._

Anakin would not have them returning to the Lars’ homestead and exacting revenge.

The sand people looked to each other, the atmosphere tense. Then one, adorned in beads, signed something quickly to the others. Then they were moving, dispersing to their tents. Anakin watched them leave, not relaxing until they had hitched their speeders and begun driving away.

He sighed, sitting in the sand heavily, beside the sole detached arm. Suddenly, he felt as though his body weighed heavier than an engine. He needed to return to Shmi— to pay his respects and ensure her soul did not lose its way. But something in him turned at the thought of returning to that small tent where his mom had been kept— _tortured_ — for days, and Anakin twisted to the side, heaving up bile. It burned in his throat, like the sand grating against his skin.

He had bet upon the sand people’s loyalty to their clan. It had worked, yet he felt no satisfaction. The wind howled around him, but it felt as though it came from within him.

“Anakin?” A voice called from behind him, hesitating. “I’d thought . . .”

Anakin closed his eyes. If he imagined, hard enough, he could feel if he had slashed his lightsaber again— killing that sand person. He could feel the grief seeping through the sand. Or perhaps that was his own— 

“I sent them away,” he said hoarsely. The only blood that had been spilled was innocent.

_She’s gone. She’s gone, Obi-Wan. She’sgonegonegone—_

Anakin flinched at the touch on his shoulder. He was a different person than who he was a child, and yet on Tatooine, his body’s instincts remained. He relaxed, feeling Obi-Wan beside him.

“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry this happened, young one,” Obi-Wan said, unable to keep the grief from his voice. When Anakin looked up, he saw the tears glistening in his eyes. “Come, let’s return. Cliegg will worry.” 

Anakin almost felt like vomiting again at the thought of Cliegg. It was only the remembrance of the adoration that had always passed between Shmi and Cliegg and that he deserved to know that spurred Anakin to move. That and his stomach might collapse upon itself if it squeezed any further to heave.

Obi-Wan tried to help him carry Shmi to the speeder bikes, but Anakin refused. He activated his lightsaber again only to tear strips from the tents and wrapped her carefully in them. She looked so calm in the shroud, if not for the blood crusting her cheeks, Anakin might’ve thought she was simply sleeping after a long day. 

Swallowing down the dryness in his throat, he bent down and braced his arms beneath her stiffening limbs. She was his burden to carry. His mother.

They rode back in silence and the suns rose behind them. Despite the warming light, Anakin only felt a chill settle deeper in his bones.

 _Do you wish you’d killed them all?_ The voice whispered.

He flinched at the thought. _No._ No, there wasn’t anything he wanted anymore.

* * *

When Obi-Wan had landed on Tatooine, he’d sensed something was amiss in the Force. Owen had been waiting for him, spare speeder bike ready, pointing in the direction Anakin had stormed off to. 

“Dad’s been injured— Beru’s inside with him. But the bacta Anakin brought should help,” Owen had said gruffly. “He told us to tell you when he’d gone.”

“Right, thank you,” Obi-Wan had smiled tightly, then made on his way. His worry had only continued mounting until he felt _it_ in the Force. It resonated outward— _grief_ , heavier than the thickest veil. It was Anakin— in all of his fiery glory, burning through the Force stronger than Tatooine’s twin suns.

Grief and anger were never good combinations. Obi-Wan knew better than most.

He gripped the handles of the speeder bike, willing it to move faster. _Oh, Anakin._ He could only presume something had gone terribly wrong in regards to Shmi.

As Obi-Wan went over the ridge, he readied his lightsaber. The sand people were not known for outright violence, preferring to ambush lone stragglers, but considering he’d seen Anakin on his bad days quarrel to no end with Master Windu, he couldn’t imagine what the emotions he could feel in the Force would provoke.

But when the sand had settled, Obi-Wan was surprised to see the camp was deserted. There was no one, and not for bloodshed. The air hung heavy with sorrow but the sand shone pale in the moons’ light.

Obi-Wan kept a hand on his lightsaber, cautious of what could have happened.

And then he saw Anakin. The boy who had always been so full of light, who had raced and won, who had somehow made _Master Windu_ like him, was kneeling on the sand, head bowed. Obi-Wan looked him over, but he seemed unscathed. Physically, at least.

 _Oh, Anakin._ Obi-Wan had always hoped that he would never have to face something as cruel as watching Qui-Gon be slaughtered before him.

“Anakin?” He said loudly, careful not to startle him by his approach. “I’d thought . . . .” Well, by the emotions he had felt in the Force, he thought he’d have been walking into a battlefield. Anakin always did rush into things headfirst.

“I sent them away,” Anakin said roughly, not turning. The unspoken _don’t worry_ lingered between them. 

But Obi-Wan did worry— he’d worried since the time the Council had refused his request to be Anakin’s Master. But somewhere between then and now, Anakin had gone and grown into a young man— a man deserving of becoming a Jedi Knight. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore, no matter how much he sometimes wished that they were still younger, when Anakin would comm Obi-Wan to complain about trite issues or Master Windu. When Anakin needed him.

As devastated as Anakin was, he was not the boy who had frustratedly cried that another Padawan had called him a ‘slave to his emotions’. Anakin was passionate but hardly needed to be saved from that.

Obi-Wan blinked, surprised at the tears he felt budding in his eyes. He reached out, gently, and touched Anakin’s shoulder comfortingly, almost drawing back at the way he stiffened, but then Anakin relaxed. 

“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry this happened, young one,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Come, let’s return. Cliegg will worry.” When Obi-Wan had left, it was a family that was distraught. They deserved to know Anakin was safe, at least.

Anakin finally nodded and took Obi-Wan’s offered hand. His hand was clammy against his.

When Obi-Wan stepped forward toward the tent, Anakin gave him a firm but not unkind shake of the head. “I’ll do it,” he said lowly, voice hoarse. Obi-Wan watched him wrap his mother then and was struck again by how sickening the situation was.

Anakin, as much as he had grown up, was still far too young to be burying his own mother.

Obi-Wan turned on his speeder bike and with a nod to Anakin, they were flying across the desert back to the homestead. Behind them, the twin suns of Tatooine rose, bathing the sand in a fiery red. 

* * *

In all his time of knowing the Lars, Obi-Wan had never felt like an outsider. No more than Anakin did, as the boy had confided in him. 

But seeing the faces of the Lars crumple when they saw Anakin walk forward, his mother enshrouded in his arms, Obi-Wan had the feeling he was intruding on something painfully personal.

“ _Shmi,_ ” Cliegg moved forward in his hoverchair, grief crumpling his expression, making his wrinkles more prominent.

In the doorway, Beru clapped a hand to her mouth, tears shedding from her eyes. Owen stood next to her, a pale, ashen look on his face.

“I— I’m _sorry._ I wasn’t strong enough or fast enough to save her. She’d been so injured . . .” Anakin said softly. Though his grip on his mother was strong, his shoulders shook, bent as though expecting a reprimand.

“Ani— we could never blame you,” Cliegg said gently. He reached out and squeezed Anakin’s arm. “When you found her . . . was she . . . ?”

Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself. “I . . . I was able to say goodbye.”

Cliegg nodded soberly. “I’m glad she wasn’t alone. At the end.”

Owen stepped forward to be beside Cliegg. “There’s a space out back where we can bury her,” he offered, in his quiet way.

Anakin seemed to have frozen for a moment and Cliegg gently touched him again. “She needs to rest, Ani. To move on.”

Steeling himself, Anakin nodded.

Obi-Wan lingered back until Anakin looked at him, stony expression cracking. “Come on, Obi-Wan.” He smiled wetly, “you’re family, too.”

With that, they took the shovels from the Lars’ shed and began digging. It was rough work, the sand occasionally flaking off of the hole they dug, sticking to their faces and necks. Digging at the pace that they were, they didn’t risk talking for fear of inhaling the sand in the air. Anakin and Obi-Wan eventually shed their outer robes, the suns rising in the sky over them.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think that there was a part of Anakin that was angry at him for encouraging him to return. To see his mother die. He didn’t feel as emotional as Obi-Wan might have expected in the Force— instead, there was a stillness to Anakin that wasn’t quite calm. It felt foreboding, to say the least. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he paused to watch Anakin continue to bend and scoop heavy sand from the grave, his shoulders broad and quiet. He couldn’t bring himself to ask if it was true.

Instead, he wrapped his hands tighter around the handle of the shovel, feeling the forming blisters protest. The pain was satisfying, in a way. Grounding.

It was noon by the time that they finished, switching out diggers except for Anakin. He insisted on staying to finish the task. 

Obi-Wan was inside with Cliegg when the grave was finished. The older man had been unable to help, a quiet shame rising off of him in the Force. But he bore it with a gruff dignity, making sure Obi-Wan switched out with Owen and Beru— muttering something under his breath about _pale-skinned off-worlders_. The color, at least, had returned to Cliegg’s face, the fresh supply of bacta doing his leg wonders. Obi-Wan didn’t wish further loss onto the Lars family any time soon.

They watched Anakin and Owen climb out of the grave, Anakin offering a hand to the young man as they got out. It was stunning to see the contrast of their hair colors and imagine that Anakin’s hair had once been lighter than even Owen’s.

Obi-Wan nursed his cup of lukewarm water. He hesitated. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” He asked Cliegg.

Cliegg barked out a hoarse laugh. “You Jedi are all with your nonsense. Don’t you think you oughta know that better than me?”

Obi-Wan paused. Cautiously, he would call Anakin and him friends. Brothers, of sorts. But he didn’t know him half as well as Master Windu did.

Cliegg seemed to take pity on him. “On Tatooine, the land’s a special thing. Most of us don’t own land— and even when we do, we don’t really. Understand?” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Oh, and we fear the land plenty— numberless amounts of people have wandered and died— but there’s a respect there. And if you don’t give the people of the lands respect, they’ll never be at peace.”

He looked out at Anakin, who gently picked up his mother from where he’d placed her in the shade. Beru had found some desert herbs stored from the previous season and tucked them into the shroud.

“That goes for living and the dead,” Cliegg said, quietly. “Y’know, I asked mister Windu when he was here if he thought Anakin was happy.”

“And did he?” Obi-Wan asked.

Cliegg fiddled with the controls of his hoverchair idly. “He said he thought Anakin was figuring something similar to it. I think you ought to have more faith in him.”

With that, Cliegg moved his hoverchair outside. Obi-Wan stayed inside the homestead a moment longer, looking around at the lovingly lived-in home. Despite the tragedy that had struck them, even that could not mask the many years of happiness that had clung in the Force.

Master Qui-Gon and he had taken Anakin from living in this home.

Obi-Wan shook himself. As Master Yoda always said, there was no point in lingering in potential pasts. They could only do what they believed was best.

* * *

To send a loved one off on Tatooine, the closest family and friends gathered around and would speak of remembrance. In the slaves’ quarters, this ceremony had been done in hushed whispers, for fear a master would catch them.

The words having been said between them, Anakin lingered at the freshly patted-down sand. The others left him alone with the grave, Obi-Wan going to check on their ships and the Lars returning to the homestead. Before he left, Owen patted him on the shoulder, quiet understanding in his eyes. Shmi had been his mother, too, his own passing when he was young.

Anakin closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He focused on pushing away the automatic feeling of guilt. It was said spirits lingered— and Shmi wouldn’t want to feel that from him.

_I miss you, mom._

Suddenly his mind wandered to Padmé and new tears welled up in his eyes. Shmi would never see the amazing woman Padmé had grown into. Padmé would never meet his mother as a free woman. They would have loved each other.

Wiping his eyes furiously, Anakin did his best to calm himself. He had to return to Padmé— he’d _promised_ — he had a duty. He wouldn’t fuck everything up today, damn it.

Force, Anakin was thankful everyone had gone inside before they could see the mess he was. He’d held it in before— it was bad luck to let a body linger for too long unburied, out of respect for the spirit and deterrence of krayt dragons— but now, there was nothing to stop him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the crooked silhouette of a japor tree. For a moment, Anakin felt a wave of nostalgia over the japor tree that had been in the quarter’s courtyard. _But of course, there was no way that it could be the same tree._

Suddenly, it was as if he was a child again, cutting a piece from the tree and carving a snippet for the angel that had come for him. _It’ll bring you good fortune_ , he’d promised.

Japor trees grew slowly from the surface, spending more energy carefully making large root systems in the sand, so people were always careful to only take the minimum of the wood they needed. Silently begging forgiveness, Anakin carefully cut a hand-sized piece with a pocketknife. Enough to carve three snippets, he estimated. Even if he had moved off-world, perhaps the spirits would give some luck up to him still. 

He had just finished cutting the branch when Obi-Wan ran up to him, an agitated expression on his face.”Anakin— come to the ship.”

Anakin jumped up, quick to follow. In Obi-Wan’s ship, there was a crackling transmission spitting out garbled Basic.

Something in Anakin’s stomach sank impossibly low at the realization that the static-patched figure was Master Windu.

“ . . . . Alliance have pledged their armies to Count Dooku and are forming an attack . . . droids . . .” The hologram of Windu turned quickly, lightsaber activating. 

“It’s a short-wave communication from Geonosis— I’ve already transmitted it to the Jedi Council,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin watched the message replay, unnerved. It took a lot to overwhelm Master Windu. Not to mention— “Geonosis?” he questioned.

“Indeed. You would know more about it than I,” Obi-Wan said, a bit dryly.

Anakin furrowed his brow. He supposed Master Windu’s lead on Kamino had been a lot more promising than they had thought. “Well,” he finally said, “we know what’s to be done, then.”

“Yes. The Council has requested that I go to provide Master Windu immediate backup before they arrive,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing his beard in thought. “Do you want to ride with me and return for the Nubian ship later?”

Anakin stared at the recording a bit longer, then finally shut it off. He couldn’t get the look of surprise on Windu’s face out of his mind— _what had thrown him off?_ Droids? Anakin had seen Windu fight— there was no way a few droids could overwhelm him.

This was bigger than any of them. _Padmé, the separatists . . ._

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan looked at him, a strange look on his face.

He took a deep breath. 

Anakin’s face felt tight from crying and he honestly felt a bit like shit. But he knew what Master Windu would expect from him— what the _Jedi_ would expect. 

“No— I have to return to Padmé. That’s the mission I was assigned to,” Anakin said, keeping his eyes focused on where Windu’s figure had been. He could already hear Windu’s voice if Anakin chose to go after him. Dry, sardonic: _really, Anakin? I would’ve thought me beating you in Dejarik— what was it? 500 times? — would have taught you some foresight._

Anakin held back the desire to demand that Obi-Wan make sure that Master Windu was safe. He wouldn’t disrespect Obi-Wan’s skill that way.

But as if he read his mind, Obi-Wan reached out and held his shoulder. His eyes were kind. “Don’t worry— your Master is one of the strongest Jedi I know. He’ll be fine.”

Fuck, he wasn’t going to cry again.

“How do you know it’s not _you_ I’m worrying about?” Anakin shot back half-heartedly. “After all, you’ve been relaxing looking at architecture all these years—” 

“Just because Satine asked you to do those projects doesn’t mean we solely do that either,” Obi-Wan protested. He smiled, lighter than before. “Right, then.” He hesitated. “I know you don’t need to hear this from me, but I’m proud of you, Anakin.”

Anakin smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

_Thank you, Obi-Wan._

Even if he had never become Anakin’s Master, Obi-Wan had given him hope. _You will become a Jedi yet_. And that was what he had really needed, back then.

* * *

_You awakened. It was another day in the glaring white walls of your home. At precisely 0500, you entered the mess and ate a quick meal. The sounds of the vode, your brothers, around you was a comfort._

_You trusted them with your life— you all had to. After all, soon you would be called to action._

_It wasn’t explicitly said, but you were special. You had a knack for leadership. Was skilled, they said. Even if they didn’t know it, the vode treated you differently. In the training simulations, vode took turns for who commanded the squad for the training._

_But when you spoke, it was as if they had only been half-listening with the other leaders. This was what you were meant to do, you told yourself._

Good soldiers follow orders— _and you were a good soldier._

_You were CT-7567._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... sorry guys... :,,,,,) i know this is a fix-it, but shmi still passed away. that's partially why this chapter took so long to write. i deliberated a lot about that choice & also it was just... really hard to write :,)
> 
> in other notes,  
> \- i hc beru as force-sensitive and no one will change my mind  
> \- i have so much respect for people who are able to seriously world-build and create fictional mythologies. i am not one of those people and apologize in advance.  
> \- i also might be switching up the chapter titles bc i realize,, we will be returning to locations (whoops) and also single chapters don't necessarily exist in only one location (as seen in this chapter). i'm still figuring this stuff out! :p  
> \- i know it might seem a bit strange for anakin to choose not to go, but at this point, he's still very loyal to the jedi (no spoilers for the future...) what with having a very capable master in windu & *therapy*  
> \- also that last part ;) i want to experiment with some of the perspectives i use, hence that touch of 2nd POV at the end :)  
> \- "vode" is mandalorian for brothers btw!!
> 
> anyhoo, thank you for reading & giving this goofy (not so goofy in this chapter...) your time :) kudos & comments are always loved.


	3. III: AKAAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan goes on a mission and Satine has a chat.
> 
> Akaan - [Mando'a] war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo, this chapter is incredibly late and incredibly rough!  
> Sorry y'all, uni has been kicking my ass and it's been a lot of adjustments! But I've been working on this chapter in bursts and while I'll come back and edit it a bit further, I felt too bad to hold back on it any longer! So, enjoy :,)
> 
> [tw] semi-graphic violence/ injury

The distance from Tatooine to Geonosis was less than a parsec.

Obi-Wan rubbed his hand over his beard idly, thinking about the resignation that had laid in Anakin’s eyes.

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan pulled up the ship’s database. The Mandalorian shuttle didn’t have nearly the capacities of a Jedi cruiser, but it sufficed for what little research he was able to do. _Geonosis._

Primarily covered in deserts and broad plateaus, it seemed the world was largely populated by sentient insectoids who lived primarily in underground tunnels. It would be difficult to track down Master Windu given that, but perhaps he could take some hints from the locals— assuming he was able to reasonably blend in.

Obi-Wan’s plan fell apart when he followed Windu’s ship’s beacon to a rocky ledge, clearly abandoned, but not salvaged. Whoever had come upon Windu had been more interested in him than the ship. 

The ship overlooked a barren castle built of the sand rusty red stone that the rest of the planet seemed to be made from. Obi-Wan saw no sign of the insectoid species he’d read of. Instead, the Force hung silent, the faintest of vibrations stretching across the plains without interruption.

Keeping a hand on his lightsaber, Obi-Wan cautiously entered one of the tunnels. He was only a few steps in when he paused. The corridor was . . . eerily silent. The air inside was unnaturally still.

Obi-Wan looked back at the entrance, only to see the light that shone through reflecting on the walls. Or rather, on strangely sculpted alcoves that evenly lined the natural stone.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan became aware of a faint humming noise that he had initially perceived as ambient background noise. The walls shifted.

Well. There were the insectoids he’d read of. He had hardly sensed their smooth minds in the Force— they had blended nearly perfectly into their surroundings. 

Obi-Wan hardly had time to raise his lightsaber before the first launched itself at him. Despite the cramped quarters, he did his best to shift into Soresu, defensively slashing at any of them that lashed forward. Their hums increased in frequency, clicks mixing in as the mass seemed to rally.

The blue glow of his lightsaber shone off the scraggly features of the Geonosians and Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop at the number of them. No wonder Master Windu had been overwhelmed. 

Keeping his saber in front, Obi-Wan looked behind him as he backed away from the creatures. At the end of the corridor, his fingers touched upon something mechanical— _a switch?_

Pressing it, he heard the distinct sound of a door opening behind him. Obi-Wan kept a careful eye on the Geonosians, who seemed to retreat at the door, and quickly dodged into the new room, finding a corresponding switch inside to shut the door. 

But it’d been foolish to think going deeper into the hive— because that’s what the tunnels functioned as— would protect him.

Obi-Wan froze as he felt the weight of a blaster against his back and heard the characteristic clicking of the Geonosian language. The heavy presence behind him was unmistakable— _Count Dooku._

“Now, Obi-Wan, I hope the two of us can talk peacefully and come to a resolution?” Dooku’s deep voice offered, his voice chillingly civil. It wasn’t a suggestion.

Slowly, Obi-Wan moved his thumb to the deactivation button and his lightsaber turned off. The hard metal ridge pressed more insistently into his shoulder blade until he clipped the hilt to his belt once again. To his surprise, he wasn’t disarmed but the blaster retreated from his back.

Obi-Wan finally let in a deep breath. Turning around, he found himself in a circular conference room of sorts, made of the same sandstone. The only light came from the seemingly mismatched steel table. Somehow, he had the sensation that meetings had not been the original intent of the chamber.

Dooku stood at his side, as if waiting for the right moment. Then he gestured for the Geonosian guard to move away. He motioned for Obi-Wan to sit with the same quietly foreboding insistence as before. He noted that the Count didn’t sit himself.

He was again struck by the realization that Dooku was technically his grand-Master and how similar their presences were. But even when Qui-Gon had rankled him, his presence had always felt comforting in its largeness. He’d never felt intimidated. It was a power play, letting him keep his weapon. _Look how in control I am_ , Dooku’s relaxed but tall stance jeered, _just try it_. His lightsaber felt cold against his leg.

Obi-Wan was painfully aware of the ranks of Geonosians filing into the room, these covered in thin armor unlike the group that had swarmed him in the corridor. They seemed content to shuffle behind Dooku and stand there, beady eyes boring into him, but Obi-Wan remembered the wickedly fast flitting movements of the roused Geonosians from the hall.

Dooku drew his attention again, waving his hand idly. It threw Obi-Wan off more than he’d like to say that he couldn’t tell if the former Jedi had a lightsaber on him. He chided himself immediately— the Council had been monitoring the situation more closely than he and they had assured him that Dooku’s motivations were political. This wasn’t a violent egomaniac like Pre Vizsla.

Though if Dooku was here, it suggested the matters on Geonosis had political weight with the separatists— which provided evidence that the attempted assasination of Senator Amidala was connected to the parties who favored the Republic’s militarization.

Dooku interrupted his thoughts. “Despite your rude intrusion, Obi-Wan, I wanted to inquire if you had given my words any thought?” Dooku asked, his voice rumbling.

“Sorry, could you refresh me on which words? We just talk so much,” Obi-Wan responded dryly, doing his best to subtly scan the room. They had rerouted the call to Coruscant some hours ago and the Council should have been able to track Windu’s signal just as he had— he wondered what was taking them so long.

Dooku leaned forward, an unamused smile on his face.“I warned you, Kenobi. The world is about to be thrown into chaos and your Duchess will not be exempt. Remember what _you_ want and seize the power to do it.”

Obi-Wan frowned slightly. _Satine?_

No. It was a distraction. _Remember why you’re here._

“You want to talk about resolution? I believe you’re holding Jedi Master Mace Windu. Release him as an act of goodwill to the Republic— holding onto him will do your cause no favors,” Obi-Wan said.

Dooku recognized the rejection for what it was and his brow twitched minutely. “He’s been convicted of espionage, and will be given the corresponding punishment. He’s to be executed in a few hours.”

Obi-Wan started, “doing so is an act of war, Count.”

“The Republic is not recognized here. But perhaps, if you were to encourage your Duchess to consider our Alliance, it would be in order to review Master Windu’s case,” Dooku said.

Obi-Wan seethed at the implication. “The Duchess of Mandalore is not one to be cajoled by _me_ — we are partners and equals.”

“Which is why I asked you to simply _suggest_ it,” Dooku shrugged. “I see much of myself and Qui-Gon in you, Kenobi. We are proactive people— we _do_ things. Don’t you think the Duchess is like that as well? Why should she not do what is best for her people?”

“You imply the Republic is doing wrong by Mandalore?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to keep his tone level. But, well, it would be an impossible task for anyone to remain nonplussed while being insulted surrounded by unfriendly faces. 

“I say that the Republic is an institution that has forgotten what it was established for. It was established as a stand against the darkness that enveloped this galaxy, seeking to shine light through with democracy. But bureaucracy has corrupted the Senate and the Order,” Dooku said coldly.

Obi-Wan feigned ease, “you sound as though you fight for the same things as us— why do you insist upon this dissident path that will cause so much harm for millions?”

“Because a few well-intentioned individuals cannot fight a system that has become bloated unto itself,” Dooku said. His expression was grave.

Obi-Wan nearly laughed at the thought of all that had passed since the Raxus Address. “Well, perhaps that was _your_ intention at first, Count Dooku, but the Jedi Order is well aware of your negotiations and treaties with the Trade Federation and Commerce Guilds. Your arrogance and hypocrisy is unbecoming.”

“The Senate is influenced by a Sith Lord. It will fall and you with it, should you stay by them,” Dooku intoned.

“Am I supposed to merely take your word for it?” Obi-Wan scoffed.

“If you must know, the Viceroy of the Trade Federation was once in league with this Sith— Darth Sidious he is called. But he was betrayed by the Sith and came to me for aid. He told me everything, while the Jedi Council would not believe him. I tried many times to warn them but they wouldn't listen to me. You must join me, Obi-Wan, and together we will destroy the Sith,” Dooku said. “Only by acting on your own will anything be done.”

Silently, Obi-Wan noted the name.  _ Darth Sidious _ — even in all of Dooku’s deception, there were grains of truth. He rolled his eyes. “I will not betray the Jedi or the Republic.”

“So this is where you will stand then,” Dooku said stonily, false disappointment coloring his voice. _This is where you die_ , seemed to be the implication. Swishing his cloak to the side, Dooku activated a comm unit.

Moments later, a figure in Mandalorian armor stepped out and grabbed Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan stared at the visor in disbelief. _The assassin?_ “Who are you—”

Before he could question the bounty hunter further, the butt of a blaster slammed into the back of his head and Obi-Wan fell into darkness.

* * *

Bo-Katan sat at the dinner table, staring out the window. The morning sun shone on her, illuminating her red hair until it nearly looked like a warm wreath around her. It was almost an absurd contrast— the domesticity of Bo slouching over a mug of tea with her armored uniform. The hilt of the darksaber fit her belt far more than the scenery.

Satine knew something was definitely off when her sister hardly reacted at her very obvious entrance to the room. Satine sat down across from her. 

“You’re dissatisfied,” Satine diagnosed. 

Bo jumped slightly, as if just noticing her. Satine knew that look in her sister’s eyes.

“What?” A guilty look was smoothed over. “No, of course not.”

“Bo, you spent years traveling all around and now you’ve been stuck here, helping me with my problems for a decade,” Satine sighed. “I don’t blame you.”

“Well, I _was_ traveling with a paramilitary group and your problems involve said paramilitary group,” Bo said dryly. “I’d say that’s a bridge that’s burned, no?” She shook her head absentmindedly. 

Satine bit back her comment that Bo would’ve never been involved with the Death Watch if not for Satine’s own ignorance— but she knew what Bo’s stance on her self-deprecating remarks were.

“Don’t worry about me, Satine. I’ll be fine." Her fingers lightly touched the darksaber. "But what about you?” Bo said in her irritatingly perceptive way.

“What about me?” Satine laughed lightly. The laugh she used in the Council.

“You’ve dedicated your life to serving as the Duchess— do you really want to spend the rest of it doing the same things?” Bo asked.

Satine quirked a small smile. “Well, you’re talking like I already have a foot in the grave. I still have plenty of years before I tire of this.” Her smile faded, “and you know as I do that the Duchy is for life— considering everything, I’m fortunate to be serving during a time of peace.” The shadow of their father’s early death hung between them.

She tried for a nonchalant shrug. “And I’m also fortunate that the ministry council takes care of most of the minutiae. If we were in war, it would be another matter.”

“But we’re not, as we know of by the separatists,” Bo said, her distaste showing.

Satine sighed, “not you too. We can’t simply go demonizing a sizable chunk of the galaxy all because they believe they’re doing something right for their people. Many of the worlds leaning toward the seperatist cause are our regional neighbors.”

“All the more reason for us to oppose this _cause_ that would disrupt the peace of the galaxy _and_ our region,” Bo argued, sitting up, her tea forgotten.

“There was a time that you fought regardless of what others called peace for what you believed was right,” Satine insisted. Certainly, she regretted everything that had led to Bo joining the Death Watch, but— perhaps it was some sort of messed up sisterly instinct— she couldn’t help but feel a bit proud at how far Bo had grown in the organization. She had done that all by herself and Satine loathed the thought that she might choose to wilt beside Satine.

But Bo was quick to retort. “Maybe I did do that— but _I_ hurt people _,_ ” she said, angrily. Her green eyes grew glassy and she looked away, blinking furiously. 

Satine sat silently, stunned.

“Bo—”

“I’m not the one in charge here, Satine. So what are _you_ going to do if war breaks out?” Bo cut her off. Her knuckles were bone white around her mug, it nearly looked like it would shatter.

Satine thought it over, considered her allies. What would be best for Mandalore. It would take some coordination on the ministry’s part, but Mandalore could manage it— especially with their domestic production on the uptick.

After a moment, Satine spoke. “We’re going to declare neutrality.” 

Bo looked at her in disbelief, “what?”

Satine met her eyes levely. “I’m a pacifist, right? Mandalore will not let its principles be swayed by the greed of militarizing industry.” The words solidified to her as she said them. If she was honest, Satine hadn’t been sure what she would do before. She’d been torn between her responsibilities as Duchess and her affections for Obi-Wan, who was a Jedi with the Republic. But both Obi-Wan and the Council would want her to do what was best for Mandalore. _Satine_ wanted what was best for Mandalore.

Bo grinned at her. 

* * *

Obi-Wan woke to blindingly bright light and a pounding headache. The roaring sounds of cheering and howling around him hardly helped.

After a few tries, his eyes finally opened, feeling uncomfortably gummy and as if there were particles stuck in them. Slowly his vision adjusted and he became aware that the light was bright from reflecting from off the light-colored sand.

_Sand?_

Resisting his protesting head, Obi-Wan raised his head and found himself in a coliseum of sorts. The stands were filled with all sorts of species, but were dominated by Geonosians. His arms were chained above him and he could hardly move. 

Squinting, Obi-Wan could see that the rusty brown stone extended upward, stretching up to a massive circular hole in the ceiling. Well, at least it seemed he was still on Geonosis. He shook himself, trying to get the feeling back in his arms.

“It took you long enough,” a dry voice called from his right.

He quickly looked to the side, blinking again. “Master Windu?” Obi-Wan choked out. “What’s happening right now?”

Windu looked at the crowd above them, unimpressed. Obi-Wan was relieved to see that he didn’t look injured aside from a bruise on his cheekbone. “It seems we’re to be executed. I suppose your negotiations didn’t go well, Kenobi?” Still as sarcastic as ever— he wondered if he had Windu to blame for Anakin’s cheek.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Thanks—” 

He was cut off by the clacking noise of two of the barred gates rising from the opposite side of the arena. Something about the darkness that loomed from within the tunnels didn’t bode well to Obi-Wan.

“Also, apparently it’s custom for Geonosians to perform their executions via pomp and circumstance,” Windu added over the sound of the gates.

As if cued by him, Count Dooku and a Geonosian wearing decorative gear. Behind them in the shadows of their booth, Obi-Wan spotted the Mandalorian from before. They began announcing their execution with, as Windu put it, pomp and circumstance.

“Dooku has allied himself with the Geonosian leader— Poggle the Lesser,” Windu told him, shouting over the noise of the arena. “The bounty hunter is the one I followed here— Jango Fett. He was used to create a clone army—”

Obi-Wan became painfully aware of hissing and grunts from the now-open tunnels. “Sorry, did you say a _clone_ army?” he questioned, eyes still stuck on the entrances.

“On Kamino— I sent the information to the Council. Hopefully they should have gotten all of the details that they need,” Windu said tightly. They were both aware of the presence of two very pissed off creatures looming in the dark.

The amplified voice of the announcer ceased and that seemed to be the cue for the Geonosian guards in the tunnels to drive out the reek and acklay holed up in each tunnel.

“Well— we’ll both take one, then? —” Obi-Wan tried his best to call out when the horned reek charged toward him with a loud cry.

Obi-Wan hardly had time to mutter a curse before he gripped his chains to swing himself to the side. He narrowly avoided being flattened by the reek, its horned face instead colliding feet away from him. The stone column trembled at the impact and Obi-Wan could feel himself swinging back from the momentum of his original push.

Swinging straight toward the incredibly irritated reek. It shook its head, bellowing with triumph at the same realization.

Looking up, Obi-Wan grunted and wrapped his hands further up the chains. He just had to be high enough to avoid the horn— 

With a grunt, he seated himself on the back of the reek, who immediately snarled in rage. Guiding his chains to brace on the reek’s main horn and not his wrists, Obi-Wan waited for the reek’s natural instincts to kick in. He used the Force to strengthen his grip on the reek’s back as it reared up, tearing the chains free of the stone. Perfect.

Obi-Wan whipped the chains back toward him, creating a sort of makeshift set of reins. Using the Force to amplify his movements, he steered the reek toward where Windu was dodging the insectoid acklay. It had long since stopped blindly rushing forward to attack, used to Windu’s tactic of having it bash itself against the still-standing columns.

Now, the acklay skittered, its fearsome pincers clicking in unison with its hissing. It was so focused upon Windu that its only warning was the trembling of the ground before Obi-Wan leaped off the reek and it stampeded headfirst into the acklay.

The two creatures rolled, crashing to the ground in a sound only covered by the displeased roars of the crowd. Obi-Wan imagined they were likely calling for their deaths.

Breathing heavily, he stood up to see Windu give him a brief nod of approval. It felt a bit like coming home.

The only thing that bested that feeling was the hum of airships. For a moment, Obi-Wan feared the worst that the separatists had mustered up reinforcements for whatever was happening on Geonosis, when he recognized the Republic insignia emblazoned on the sides. Then the hatches opened and he saw innumerable Jedi leaping from them, all landing gracefully around them in the arena. From the wings of the coliseum, more brown-cloaked figures emerged. The Geonosians hummed with rage.

“Master Windu, Knight Kenobi!” A deep voice called out.

Obi-Wan turned around just in time to catch the lightsaber tossed at him by Kit Fisto, a crooked grin on his face.

“I figured you two might need these— needing to be rescued and all,” he teased.

Windu activated his lightsaber. “Thank you for the foresight,” he called back. But even his dry tone didn’t hide the relief in his expression. On their own, they probably wouldn’t have made it out of the arena alive. But with a few hundred Jedi? They might just stand a chance against the population of Geonosian warriors.

As if spurred on by that thought, the sound of thousands of footsteps echoed in the tunnels. Obi-Wan and the other Jedi braced themselves, unable to feel out the threat until it became apparent why they couldn’t.

It was battle droids— and thousands of them.

Obi-Wan glanced up at the booth where Dooku and the Geonosian leader sat. Dooku stared down at them, nearly as impassive and unfeeling as the army before them. The methodical beat of the droids grew nearer. In unison, they lowered their blasters.

If all-out bloodshed had been what Dooku wanted, he had set the perfect stage. 

With that, Obi-Wan was thrown into the chaos and the arena became a swirl of battle and shouts. Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force, drawing on it to sense his blind spots as he moved about. Geonosians and droids alike threw themselves toward anything that held a glowing lightsaber, and he tried to close himself off to the near-immediate feedback of loss.

The Geonosians, though seeming to follow the orders to battle with an unconscious fervor, had sentience and life. Every one that he killed extinguished a spark in the Force and not even the hum of his lightsaber could disguise their dying croaks. Obi-Wan’s only consolation was that he could feel nothing in the cold circuitry cry out when he destroyed the droids.

But louder than the droids or Geonosians in the Force were the cries of the Jedi. Every second, he felt more of them die. They were outnumbered.

Obi-Wan deflected another blaster shot that would have hit him in the chest, dodging around and trying to catch sight of one of the Masters. If this kept up, they would all be dead. In a moment of distraction, Obi-Wan didn’t catch a droid throwing a grenade. _Shit._

The small metallic device clicked as it hit the ground and sand and white filled his vision.

Though Obi-Wan’s body twisted instinctually, he was knocked down in the blast. His shoulder screamed in protest at the heavy landing and his ears rang loudly. Obi-Wan lay on the ground, disoriented. He had to get up— to fight—

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Twi’lek Jedi fall— her lekku looked smaller than he would’ve expected from an adult— perhaps a Padawan—

_You need to get up._

His head pounded and he could feel the vibrations of explosions and running feet through the ground. People were dying, _people were dying._ Shakily, Obi-Wan pushed himself up, nearly throwing up at the sudden headrush. 

He saw Windu grapple with Jango Fett, fire and dust surrounding them. Finally, the Master’s quick movements ended with Fett’s head flying from his body. But despite that small victory, the droids were still surrounding them and the bodies of the Jedi and Geonosians were only growing. The sands were soaked with blood.

“We have to get out of here!” Obi-Wan shouted distantly at Windu. His voice sounded like it was coming from outside of him and he realized he couldn’t hear himself out of his left ear. He reached up and felt wetness smear the side of his face.

Windu turned his eyes to him, concern coloring his expression. “We can’t yet, Obi-Wan. We need a way out first—”

An eerie hush fell over the arena as the droids all simultaneously lowered their weapons. Obi-Wan looked around and realized all of the Jedi had been brought to the central platform— the ones who had been in the above stands had either dropped down to help the fight or had died trying. And standing above them all, Count Dooku stood— orchestrating them all like a well-practiced band.

Dooku smiled in a way that was unconvincing in anything but distaste. “Master Windu! You all have fought gallantly— this is an occasion that will be worthy of recognition in the history archives of the Jedi Order. Now it is finished.” He spread his hands, “surrender— and your lives will be spared by my droid army.”

Windu straightened his stance, his lightsaber still activated. “We will not be hostages for you to barter with, Dooku,” he called back, cold.  
The Dooku made an expression reminiscent to the one he had given to Obi-Wan before. Obi-Wan wondered if he had actually expected any other outcome.

“Then, you have chosen death.”

Dooku raised a hand and on cue, new ships roared to existence in the air above. Obi-Wan tensed, ready to be blown out of existence rather than simply shot. Trust the Count to be overdramatic.

But the expected canonfire to blissful oblivion never happened. Obi-Wan watched the Count’s expression more closely and saw the deep purple of frustration slowly spread across his visage. Then the gunships lowered further and they were surrounding the cluster of Jedi in a protective circle. Instantly, blaster fire began raining down on the ships, but their shields held. 

It took a moment, but the doors slid open, revealing soldiers in Republic colors. Soldiers and . . .

“Master Yoda—” Obi-Wan murmured in shock.

“Circle the Jedi. A perimeter, create, around the survivors,” the old Master called out and the soldiers immediately moved to follow. Obi-Wan watched them dumbly for a second more before being moved to action, him and the rest of the remaining Jedi pouring into the ships. He noticed all of the troopers had similar heights and voices through their helmets.

Then the shuttles were rising in the air, firing back cover as the ships retreated. Obi-Wan found Windu beside him once again and weakly smiled at him. “You said a clone army?”

Windu nodded, seeming a bit in disbelief himself. “It’s good to see that it worked out, for now,” he said grimly.

Master Yoda bowed his head. “Capture Dooku, we must. If escapes he does, rally more systems to him he will. Deep suffering, I sense.”

They all could sense the vibrations through the Force— of the many lives that had been lost that day. _Was this just to be the beginning?_

“Drop us at that assembly point ahead, Captain,” Windu told the Clone soldier with a Captain insignia. 

They continued to avoid the droids’ blasters, the Republic forces encircling the Trade Federation starships. Through the open door, Obi-Wan watched the clone troopers continue the assault on the ground and from the other gunships.

Then, almost faster than Obi-Wan could see, he saw a sole speeder race past. He caught sight of silver hair and a dark cloak. _Dooku._ He pointed, “Dooku’s heading someplace— we need to follow him.”

Windu nodded and turned to a trooper with a rank insignia. “Change course— quickly.”

The ship picked up speed and Obi-Wan braced himself against one of the hanging grips to avoid plummeting out. Thankfully his head injury didn’t seem to be causing too much dizziness— he didn’t particularly want his first in-person meeting with Master Yoda in a few months spent explaining if he made a habit falling out of shuttles.

They followed Dooku’s figure into another tower made of the red stone, the inside revealing a larger cavern— _a hanger_ , Obi-Wan realized.

“We can’t let him leave,” Windu said, brow furrowing. With an agility befitting the Master he was, he swept forward, smoothly moving into Windu’s signature form. Obi-Wan had never known anyone else to match Master Windu in Vaapad except perhaps his former Padawan, Depa.

Yet Dooku dodged easily, his hand moving from his robes to fluidly reveal his lightsaber. 

Obi-Wan nearly froze at the sight of the blade. _Oh._ It was crimson—

The last time he had seen that color, he was left weeping over an abyss with his Master dying in his arms. His arms had barely been strong enough to deflect that descending blade, the horned creature’s red-rimmed eyes burning into him. And then the creature was falling— falling— into the abyss below, to the darkness and the subconscious of his mind. 

Suddenly Obi-Wan felt helpless to help Windu, too overwhelmed at the sight of red and purple clashing in the dark.

It was hard to believe that the Count was technically a former Jedi— more so that he had turned to the side of the Sith— but no one watching Windu and Dooku twirl in battle could doubt either of their abilities. Or Dooku’s intention.

Perhaps before Dooku could have claimed ignorance— to say that the movement that had grown out of his speech had been beyond his intentions and that now he was pressured to assist the Geonosians in whatever plot had happened. But Obi-Wan could see even reflected in Master Yoda’s grieved face that even Dooku’s former Master understood.

The moment was sealed with the third color filling the air.

Ozone crackled and Obi-Wan nearly flinched at the sight of lightning bursting forth from Dooku. _Force lightning_. A dark ability only whispered about in the ancient Jedi texts.

It was a different purple than the deep rich color that came from Windu’s crystal, instead the lightning was instead a palid purple. The air was filled with a sickly, dark atmosphere.

Windu only had moments to raise his lightsaber up, managing to block the lightning. It was slight, but he stumbled back. Dooku didn’t hesitate.

In a blink, he released his hold on the lightning and his lightsaber flashed forward, cleanly slicing off Windu’s right arm. He hissed out a curse, falling back and barely deflecting a second strike. Dooku’s hand raised again, fingertips sparking when Yoda stepped forward.

He leaped forward in time, deftly using his gnarled hands to capture the lightning. For a moment, the cavern came to a still, all eyes upon the old Master who held the power in his grasp. Eyes closed in concentration, he shivered slightly and thrust his palms upward, redirecting the lighting to the ceiling above. The stone groaned at the impact and dust rained down.

Obi-Wan realized distantly that Yoda was watching two of his students fight.

“The dark side, I sense in you,” Yoda said. His voice was final, but there was no anger in his wizened eyes— only sadness. But Yoda didn’t hesitate in moving forward, blocking Dooku’s path to Windu, his green lightsaber joining the fray. Even faster than Windu’s duel, Dooku and Yoda’s lightsabers twirled around each other, barely seeming to touch at each hit except for the clashing sound that rang out.

For a moment, it seemed the Count was being pushed back,

The ceiling shuddered further and sediments scattered. Windu stepped back further, gripping his arm and grimacing. He collapsed to his knees.

Obi-Wan was caught between rushing forward to assist Master Yoda and aiding Windu.

But in the end, Dooku made the decision for him. Dooku stepped back, as if retreating. Yoda, it seemed, gave him reprieve for a moment— perhaps a visage of his regrets as a Master— but it was enough time for Dooku to yank his hand downward, his clawed gesture reaching far up in the Force to bring a crane crashing down onto Windu’s prone form.

Obi-Wan hardly had time enough to react to reach out and hold the massive metal structure himself. It hovered precariously above Windu and Obi-Wan could feel the strain in his bones. His body was teetering, blood loss and shock combining. He grunted at the effort.

Suddenly, the weight eased from him and Obi-Wan saw Yoda had turned back, his face gritted in his own concentration. The crane lifted slowly and Obi-Wan was stunned at the power in his tiny form.

Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Dooku was escaping.

 _No_.

Not after everything they had been through— everything they had lost. Obi-Wan checked to make sure his lightsaber was still in hand and leaped forward, shaking away his dizziness to follow the Count.

Dooku had nearly reached the ship’s ramp when he turned around to fluidly block Obi-Wan’s strike.

“Trying to hit me in the back? Not very honorable, Obi-Wan,” Dooku chided, drawling over his name.

“You lost any honor in orchestrating that in the arena,” Obi-Wan shot back coldly. “ _That_ was slaughter.”

“It wasn’t I who called for the Jedi. It could have been between us and Master Windu,” Dooku intoned loudly, chiding.

“You won’t make it off this planet,” he promised. Behind his eyelids he could see the Jedi, the Padawans who had died. Even the Geonosians— such a waste of life.

Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Obi-Wan.” Every time he said his name, it sounded like an insult. “It should be prudent to you that in my cause, I have no intention of touching Mandalore. The world is stripped of resources and holds little strategy— far too close to Hutt space to consider invading.” He paused meaningfully. “That is, if you should let me leave.”

Obi-Wan could hear his heart hammering in his ears. “You expect me to believe that?” He scoffed.

Dooku stared at him, eyes black as night. “I’m serious. Deadly. I’ve been thinking of this for some time.” He shrugged, “but my close companions in the Trade Federation do not know of this. Nor do the Geonosians, or the Techno Union . . . need I go on?” He looked at Obi-Wan for a moment longer, studying him. “Think of what I said. About the Duchess.”

Obi-Wan was frozen, his lightsaber nearly shaking in how tightly he gripped it, its blue light washing over them. Dooku had deactivated his lightsaber, as if the confrontation was hardly worth his time. But though his tone was demeaning . . . if Obi-Wan could do something for Satine in this war— because this _would_ lead to war— he would do it. If the Senate had been compromised by the Sith . . . he would do anything for her.

It was as if a second grenade had gone off. Obi-Wan watched himself lower his lightsaber, pressing the deactivation button. In the resulting gloom, he could glimpse Dooku’s joyless smile.

“Your Duchess will thank you, Obi-Wan,” he said coolly. With that, he stepped backward on the ramp and the ship rumbled to life. He made no move to stop him. 

Obi-Wan watched him leave, feeling suddenly quite cold. He hardly felt the harsh thud of the crane hitting the ground, away from Windu thanks to Yoda’s efforts.

_What have I done?_

He felt in a haze until a hand reached out and tapped his shoulder. Obi-Wan turned around to see yet another clone trooper— _was it one he had seen before? He couldn’t tell_ — who nodded his head sharply. “It’s time for departure, sir,” a filtered voice came from the helmet.

Obi-Wan let himself be guided to the ship, where Windu lay beside Yoda, who stared at him with knowing eyes. Obi-Wan felt them burn through him. Perhaps the troopers didn’t know, but they _knew_.

Obi-Wan had let Count Dooku go. Guilt churned in his stomach. The shuttle hummed and prepared for take-off.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Yoda said. Obi-Wan hesitantly met the Grand Master’s solemn stare. “Great responsibility you have,” Yoda warned him. “Balance it you must or darkness consume you, it will.” 

Obi-Wan had expected disappointment or perhaps rightful anger behind the old Master’s chastising, but there was only weariness. Packing in the shuttle as they were, he was even more apparent of his worn-down stature. Even Yoda’s robes were dusted with dirt and wear from the battle. Somehow, that observation only made it worse.

Even when one of the troopers, a medic Obi-Wan suspected, gave him bacta for his ear, it couldn’t distract him from the rising feeling of shame. He had let Dooku go.

_And for what?_

Obi-Wan could only hope that Satine would forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely kudos and comments! They mean the world to me! <3
> 
> (also I realize I totally brushed over it in ToM, but Obi-Wan gave Bo the darksaber :) )


	4. IV: WAR MAKING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Padmé contemplates the Jedi, Anakin recovers, and the Council discusses matters. Oh, and war's begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tw] mentions of slavery

It wouldn’t be fair to say that Padmé hadn’t thought of Anakin for the past ten years.

After all, Anakin had been the one who she had thought of when Padmé had proposed her slavery mitigation bill when she’d first entered the Senate. Afterward, her mentor, the former Senator Sheev Palpatine, had kindly taken her aside, a slightly flummoxed look in his eyes when he carefully explained to her the ‘status quo’ of the Senate. 

“You see, my dear, as progressive as many of us would like to be, it is simply not possible for us to get such legislation passed— not to mention that, ah, _economically_ , many of the Outer-Rim worlds’ fragile economies would not withstand such a blow. In such an instance, it would then fall upon the Core worlds to support them, and I’m afraid we do not have the strength to muster such a feat.” 

With a pained expression, Palpatine had spread his hands and sighed, “under the legal bounds of the Senate, we simply do not have the jurisdiction to outright abolish such horrid practices.”

At the time, Palpatine was her trusted mentor and Padmé was a young, many said naive, senator. So Padmé had nodded her head and kept it down.

But she’d never quite stopped thinking about the young boy who had called her an angel when it seemed that he was the one of them who could truly fly.

Years after that fateful moment in the Nubian senatorial office, Padmé watched the Nubian ship land from the nearly cloudless sky. It was a smooth landing, and part of her wanted to remember the young boy who had leaped out of his home-made podracer, ecstatic grin stretched on his face.

Nothing could be a greater contrast from the present moment.

Anakin stepped out of the ship alone, a hollow expression on his face. His gait was stilted, as if he wasn’t fully aware.

Padmé moved closer, concern hurrying her steps. “Anakin?” she called out.

He snapped to attention and he looked at her. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face looked drained, as if the desert had sucked more than moisture from him. Despite having grown, Anakin suddenly looked frail, surrounded by Naboo’s country greenery.

Anakin’s lips trembled slightly, as if he was failing to grasp words. “I . . . she’s gone,” he said, quiet voice settling over the clearing, smothering them in anguish.

Padmé suddenly felt the heaviness in his gaze. “ _Oh_ , Anakin,” she said. She closed the gap between them, hesitating slightly to give him time to move away. His shoulder remained stiff and unresponsive and she firmly wrapped her arms around him. “Anakin, I’m so sorry.”

Anakin’s short-cropped hair tickled her face as his body seemed to melt into her arms. For a moment, they stood there, him painfully still yet quivering and Padmé unsure in all her political finesse how to convey her grief for the kind women who had taken her in as a queen in exile. 

“I feel like I failed her,” Anakin finally spoke. “When I found her . . . it was horrible.” His face paled and he looked nauseous.

Padmé rubbed his back gently like how her mother used to as a child. “It’s okay to cry about it,” she offered. The only ones around were her guards who politely averted their eyes from the scene.

But Anakin shook his head firmly, almost seeming to shake more at it. A guard seemed to rise behind his eyes and he moved away. “I’ve cried enough already. It’s a bad habit in the desert,” he explained hoarsely. “And there are bigger problems.”

Padmé frowned. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic at worse events than the kind woman who was Anakin’s mother passing away.

Anakin bowed his head briefly. “I’ve received word from the Council. We should return to Coruscant— myself immediately. War is coming.” Padmé paused— _but they had only been just voting on the military creation bill . . . ._

She shook herself to attention. There was no point in mourning the past state of things. People were dying. “Of course. You can take the shuttle you took from before. My guards and I will be fine returning on our own.” Force knew if Asajj was ever going to leave her out of her sight after this.

Anakin looked to her, a scarily intense expression. “Padmé, this . . . this is a _war_ now. I— I could _feel_ them dying. The Jedi.” He gripped her shoulders, almost bruisingly, “promise me you’ll be safe.”

Promises were hard. Promises were the sort of thing Bail and Padmé discussed away from prying eyes, with a nod and smile. Promises were Padmé standing up to her people and telling them that she would save them. Padmé took her promises very seriously.

“Anakin, you know I can’t guarantee you that,” she said quietly. She saw the grief for his mother in his eyes. She firmly but gently removed Anakin’s hands from her. “ I will do my best.” She gave a small smile, “but how can I stand aside when millions will suffer the longer this goes on?”

Anakin sighed. His expression was of one who’d known he was already defeated and didn’t appreciate it. “I know. I know I can’t be watching over you always, but . . . I worry.” The words felt heavier seeing the faint dust of sand the fresher hadn’t managed to purge from his clothes.

“Well, you’ll have to get in line,” Padmé smirked slightly, nodding to the pacing figure of Asajj beside her guards. “I’m in good hands, Anakin,” she reminded him. “If the Council needs you, you must go.”

Anakin’s expression was dark then lightened. He nodded curtly. “You’re right.” As if struck by an idea, Anakin stepped back. “What if you had one more set? Just for safety’s sake.”

Padmé had barely nodded before he was dragging a golden-plated humanoid droid from his ship who was protesting loudly. She was immediately struck by the strangely posh, Core accent coming from the droid in an indignant stream.

“Master Ani— oh dear, what is happening?”

“Padmé Amidala, meet C-3PO, C-3PO meet Padmé,” Anakin said, a bit breathlessly, eagerly.

Padmé looked at the droid closer, listening to his indignant spluttering. An incredulous smile spread across her face, “Anakin . . . this isn’t . . . ?” Distantly, in her memory of that planet of heat and dust, she remembered a younger Anakin showing her one of his creations. It’d been lesser then, but no less impressive. It’d been the moment she’d realized he was brilliant. 

“Oh Maker, hello. I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations,” the droid straightened himself in an eerily human-like manner. If his face could move, Padmé imagined him a disgruntled man.

Anakin smiled at the line, as if it was an inside joke. “He’s fluent in—”

“ — in over six million forms of communication—” 

“ — and he’d be _happy_ to help you,” Anakin nudged C-3PO.

Padmé laughed softly. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, C-3PO.”

If droids could be affronted, she would say C-3PO look positively ruffled, a slight whir in his gears as he straightened himself. “Well, it is a pleasure to serve anyone who is a friend of Master Ani.” Strangely, Padmé had the feeling that he was genuine about the comment.

Anakin always did have a way of imbuing things with life of their own.

The man in question nodded. “Threepio here will help you. I’m not saying anything about his ability to defend, but he has your back. As long as you don’t do anything brainless,” Anakin said teasingly.

Padmé looked away from admiring C-3PO to catch his eye. “The same applies to you as well, Anakin. _Don’t_ do anything reckless.”

He gave a crooked smile. “No promises.”

“And Anakin?” Padmé called out. He paused on the gangplank. “You know you’re not a failure, right? You’ve done the best you can. No one can predict the future.”

Anakin merely nodded at her reassurance, a distant smile on his face. He seemed more at peace than when he had landed from Tatooine, but Padmé couldn't help the feeling that a part of him was laughing at her for the statement. Not in a cruel way, just a different way. Anakin gave a small nod and departed.

Perhaps she would never understand the Jedi.

* * *

Anakin stared at the wall of the pristine Nubian ship and, for a brief second, was overcome with disgust. What right did this state-of-the-art ship have to be so finely crafted, so untouched by the burdens and hurt of the people?

Even when his eyes were open, the vibrations through the Force still pained him. He could feel the loss of life, of Force-sensitive souls brutally massacred. It was surrounded by darkness and fear. If he reached out, trying to sense either Master Windu or Obi-Wan, all he could feel was static. They were too far in the thick of the action and Anakin only caught glimpses of bloodshed.

It was far easier to simply tuck himself in a corner, and close his eyes to the universe like he had practiced as a child. Sometimes, when Anakin had hid well enough, it had been as though a god had answered his prayers and vanished him and Anakin could spend an afternoon, holded away with his spare material scraps away from the masters. His knees pulled into himself, he could imagine he was just another part of the rumbling ship’s hull.

But it was always impossible to stay separate from the living aura of the Force for long. He found himself dragged back, to the noise and clutter of the world, reminded in some way that there was a world outside of his own.

Today, his reminder came in the trill of piercing beeps.

Anakin’s eyes snapped open to watch an extremely smug droid roll forward before him. Anakin blinked. The droid’s lights flickered back at him.

 _Guy who jumped out of a window!_ R2-D2 screeched gleefully.

Despite himself, he felt a wry grin slip onto his face. “You know you don’t have to keep identifying me by all of my fuck ups, right? It’s Anakin.”

_Ani?_

Anakin’s smile faded, weary. “Don’t call me that.”

 _Why not?_ Artoo’s binary seemed genuinely confused, not the usual fiendish glee he bore. Anakin sighed.

“That’s what my mom called me.” He rested his chin on his knees. “But she’s gone now.”

Artoo keened backward slightly, as if uncertain. Then a mechanism clicked from within him and a holo flickered to light. It was Shmi, wrapped in her favorite shawl to wear during the evenings. She was younger, a worried expression on her face.

“ _You should be proud of your son. He gives without any thought of reward_.” Qui-Gon’s voice rang out from somewhere off the holo’s view.

Despite himself, Anakin leaned forward, entranced. “You . . . recorded them.” He chest ached at the remembrance of the older Master. The one who had shown him a way off Tatooine. This must’ve been the night before the podrace, when Padmé and Qui-Gon had stayed with them.

“ _He knows nothing of greed. He has . . ._ ” his mother hesitated. A lump caught in Anakin’s throat at the sight of her. Alive.

Artoo beeped a bit guiltily.

He shook his head. “It’s . . . alright. Keep playing it.”

“ _He has special powers_ ,” Qui-Gon said. Anakin wasn’t sure if he felt like crying or laughing. _Special powers._ He sure never felt all that special, especially after meeting all of the Jedi Order.

_The Jedi . . ._

Shmi cut through his thoughts. “ _Y_ _es._ ”

Qui-Gon continued. “ _He can see things before they happen. That's why he appears to have such quick reflexes. It is a Jedi trait._ ”

“ _He deserves better than a slave's life._ ”

Anakin closed his eyes.

 _Anakin?_ Artoo questioned. The droid quietly shut off the exchange and the hum of the ship seemed to be filled with a new sort of a quiet.

“She always did do what was best for me,” he finally forced out, voice rough. He looked up at the smooth ceiling paneling. “I remember, when I was a child, she would take beatings for me.” He blinked, hard. “I was nimbler than most kids, but I messed up still. And they hit her for it.” Anakin looked at the frozen holo of Shmi, a teary expression on her face. But she was smiling, too, in the way the corner of her lips turned upward.

“She knew that Watto would never agree to gambling both of us. But she agreed anyway.” _And she had smiled about it_. Because it meant Anakin would be free.

Anakin reached out, brushing his fingers against Shmi gently. But his fingers were only bathed in blue light and he withdrew them. Not that he expected anything different.

His arms couldn’t forget the feeling of Shmi trembling within.

Artoo turned the holo off. He made a low whine at Anakin’s lack of response.

Anakin patted Artoo gently. “I’m . . . I’m not mad at you. I’m just . . . sad. But thank you for showing me that.” Artoo beeped affirmatively, rolling back as Anakin stood up. “I’m gonna get some sleep now. But wake me when we approach Coruscant.”

Artoo beeped again, more enthusiastically, and Anakin gave a brief smile. Stretching slightly, he turned in search of the sleeping cots on the ship.

The whole day, he’d been so full of adrenaline, he hadn’t registered the fatigue of running across his former home. He hardly had any energy to use the fresher and as soon as he stumbled upon the airlocked chamber that held a single cot, he stripped out of his outer layer of tunics and collapsed into bed. 

And for a moment, his mind was quiet.

* * *

Anakin was woken by Artoo’s insistent beeping on the ship’s communications.

_Anakin. Aaaaanakin. Wake up. Wake up. Anakin. Anakin. Wake up. Approaching Coruscant, entering the Corusca sector. Coordinates are 0-0-0. Anakin. Anakin—_

His eyes snapped open and he furiously wiped away the gummy feeling. “I’m up!” He called out hoarsely, groaning loudly. Well, it seemed Artoo’s sympathies had all been used up before.

The droid, the little shit, continued blaring the announcement throughout the ships while Anakin groggily stumbled into the fresher and then his alternative pair tunics. After no less than twenty repetitions of Artoo’s message, he stormed into the cockpit and Artoo immediately went silent, his lights blinking innocently at him.

 _You said to wake you during the approach_ , Artoo beeped cheerfully.

Anakin merely scowled and started flicking switches on the operating board. Ten seconds to exiting lightspeed.

While it was possible to land on Coruscant using autopilots, most pilots— or competent ones— preferred to do it themselves, what with the unusually crowded airspace over the bustling Core world.

Anakin watched the flood of stars passing by and then— he powered down the hyperdrive and the shuttle smoothly descended out of hyperspace. Artoo beeped a question at him as he guided the ship toward the familiar, towering shape of the Jedi Temple.

“I suppose you’re not used to landing in this area with Padmé? There’s a docking bay just outside the Temple grounds,” Anakin explained as he switched between the busy lanes of Coruscant’s airspace.

As they neared the Temple, Anakin was taken aback by the number of large ships of a model he didn’t recognize. They were white, with red accents, and from them, streams of people poured forth toward the Temple. Their ship neared and Anakin could see most of the people were carrying stretchers. 

He reached out with the Force and was met by a wall of agony. The crowd below was filled with hurting, many of them Jedi. Quickly, Anakin transmitted his access code as Padawan and landed the shuttle. The landing ramp had hardly touched Coruscanti ground before Anakin was out of the ship, rushing forward to help.

He found an older Quarren Padawan struggling to carry a man in armor, who lay groaning on a stretcher. Anakin stared down at him for a moment as he grabbed the other side of the stretcher, disconcerted.

Anakin realized what had thrown him off when they reached the medical transport. Some seemed to be heading directly to the Halls of Healing with the most critically wounded, but the others soared in the other direction, presumably to Coruscant’s massive hospital. But it wasn’t just the sheer number of wounded that was unnerving— it was that far too many of the men downed looked like _replicas_.

The other Padawan seemed to notice his confusion. “They’re clones,” he explained.

Anakin nodded mutely, staring closer at the man they carried. Cloning was a complicated, highly technical process that he'd only ever heard of before, and never with a highly cognitizent species like humans. A poor desert planet like Tatooine had no hope of amassing the resources needed for such advancements.

And yet, even from theory, to create a consciousness, a _being_ from a collection of stem cells and technology— it would physically be a perfect copy, but the mind was another question.

They had just dropped off the man— the clone— to the medical transport when Anakin’s commlink started beeping insistently. Anakin looked down and saw the caller— _Master Windu_. He immediately allowed the call through.

“Master— are you all right? Where are you now? Were you injured?” Anakin demanded. Even despite all of the training he had done with Masters to meditate, it was difficult for him to discern individual presences next to the overwhelming aura of the Jedi Temple. Anakin was nearly nauseous at the thought of Windu lying barely conscious and groaning like the clones.

There was a tense silence then a sigh.

“Really, Anakin, you’d know if you paused a second to let me speak,” Windu dryly spoke. 

Never had Anakin felt so relieved to hear his Master’s sarcastic tone. With all the violence ringing through the Force, even their bond had become muddled. He’d been sure that Windu wasn’t dead, but there was a large range between healthy and dead.

Anakin realized Windu had continued speaking after that, floored as he was by relief. “Uh, wait— what did you say?” He sheepishly asked.

He winced at the _feeling_ of Windu rolling his eyes at him. “I _said_ , I saw your code come in. The Council is meeting and would like to speak with you.” Nothing of Windu’s tone revealed his impression as Anakin’s stomach dropped.

“Right,” he weakly said.

“Good. Try not to drag your feet on the way up, Padawan,” Windu said, a touch of humor coloring his voice. With that, he disconnected the call and Anakin was left staring at his wrist for a good moment.

The Council.

Anakin didn’t always have the best record with the Jedi Council. It wasn’t _his_ fault that his missions always seemed to go awry— but it was a Jedi’s duty to help those in need! And it wasn’t as if Master Windu had stood by while Anakin dragged them off on side adventures. Windu seemed to have the impression that at least their greatest efficiency toward their actual task would be quickly and effectively finishing up whatever direction Anakin’s instincts took them. But in all of those times, the situation had worked out.

This time, Anakin couldn’t imagine what they would say to him for leaving Padmé but then not following Obi-Wan to Geonosis. Even if they were virtually clean, Anakin felt as though there was still blood caked beneath his nails, hardening and cracking.

He was still fidgeting with his fingers when he found himself before the entrance of the Council chambers. Anakin swallowed once, twice, his mouth drier than before.

 _Anakin._ Windu’s mind tugged at his insistently. Even in just that touch, Anakin could feel the range of his Master’s emotions. Tired, worried, determined. But no anger.

Anakin steeled himself. It was only the Council. In Tatooine tradition, they were family. He activated the chamber doors and entered. Anakin took stock of the room— all of the seats were filled but for one and he sensed the weight of loss in the room. Obi-Wan stood to the side, the center of the chamber beckoning to Anakin. He looked cautiously at Windu who nodded at him slightly.

“Masters,” Anakin greeted, inclining his head.

“Young Skywalker, good it is to see you safe,” Master Yoda spoke. Though his face was just as it was before, the lines in it seemed more worn, as if one battle had aged him decades. “Too many lives lost there were.”

Straight to the point, Master Ki-Adi cleared his throat. “What the Council would like to know is why you didn’t proceed to go to Geonosis with Knight Kenobi after leaving your post?” he questioned. The Cerean had always been civil but kind to Anakin when he had come as a child, lost, to the Temple. He knew the feeling of being alone in experience.

Perhaps it was because it had been Ki-Adi who had asked, his eyes saddened from watching too many die, that Anakin found himself telling the truth.

“I sensed in the Force that something would happen to my mother. The senator and I took the necessary precautions and I left for Tatooine with her blessing. But when I arrived, my mother was already beyond my help,” Anakin said, head high. “When we received the distress signal, Obi-Wan was prepared to act as aid, but I had an obligation to the senator.” He was surprised at how put together he felt.

He _had_ been too late for Shmi. But he was blessed that the Force had given him moments still with her.

Windu nodded at him, a brief burst of pride humming in their bond.

“The Council also received a report from Knight Kenobi. Considering the events that have passed, they have determined it more than sufficient for your Trial of Flesh,” Windu said levelly. Anakin stared at him for a moment. Blinked.

“This evening, you will be knighted as a Jedi,” Windu finished. Though his expression looked stoic, Anakin had learned to decipher Windu’s microexpressions. He was pleased.

_A Jedi?_

There was silence in the chamber.

Anakin lowered his gaze to the floor, processing the words he’d heard. _A Jedi._ He was finally fulfilling his childhood dream. Yet—

He didn’t _feel_ any different than before when he had been assigned to guard Padmé. He grieved for Shmi, but himself as a person— he was no different than before. He didn’t think that losing a parent warranted receiving the honor he’d worked on for half of his life.

Anakin became aware that the whole of the Council was staring at him. Waiting for his modest and appropriate exclamation of joy.

Anakin blinked again. “I . . . thank you. Thank you for this honor.”

“Difficult we know this is. But bravery and judgment you have shown. Ready you are for this,” Yoda said heavily. His eyes seemed to bore into Anakin and he had the terrible feeling that the old Master knew precisely what had run through his mind in that desert. How he had contemplated igniting his lightsaber and ending them all.

But he hadn’t.

He hadn’t realized doing nothing was so commendable.

“You are dismissed for now, Anakin. I’ll find you later,” Windu finally said. His eyes were understanding. Anakin dipped his head, eager to leave. As he made to leave, he winced slightly, realizing his knees had locked in place while he stood. The chamber was silent as he left.

* * *

“Padmé? Are you well?”

Padmé shook herself to attention. She forced a smile at Asajj. They had landed on Coruscant and made it to her office, and Asajj had just finished her thorough sweep of the area— one explosion was one explosion too much in her opinion.

“I’m fine, Asajj, thank you. Well, as fine as I can be,” she said, frowning at her screen. Holonews articles were projected around the room, of the official declaration of war between the Republic and the “Confederacy of Independent Systems”. Her heart ached for all of her friends who lived upon those worlds. _Mina . . ._

Asajj looked at the screens, brow furrowing. “The Chancellor has been granted emergency powers by the Senate?”

Padmé followed what report she eyed and pulled it up. She sighed. “Indeed. It appears there was a vote when we were incommunicado. It was what was necessary to authorize deploying the clone army,” Padmé added at Asajj’s unimpressed expression. “Chancellor Palpatine is a good man.”

Asajj frowned, crossing her arms. “A good man or no, I’ve seen power consolidated to too few men far too many times,” she said.

Padmé nodded, acceding her point. Over the years, Asajj had opened up to Padmé more throughout the course of their many lunch breaks and late-nights spent preparing speeches. She was fond of the young woman, though she only knew vague details of Asajj’s past. That she’d grown up in the Outer Rim, never quite always under a stable roof. Considering the monopoly the Hutts held on so much of the Mid and Outer Rims, Padmé could only imagine what had caused the calm, certain force that was always behind Asajj’s actions.

“We’re only in the beginning of this conflict. Soon, we will establish measures of accountability,” Padmé promised her.

Asajj seemed to hesitate, her eyes still intent upon the report. “Do you . . . trust me?”

“Of course,” Padmé's reaction was automatic.

She took a deep breath, settling her hands at her sides. “Then I need to tell you. I’m . . . Force-sensitive.”

Padmé blinked. She paused, thinking over their interactions. _Force-sensitive_. She didn’t claim to fully understand the abilities of the Jedi, but if anything was to be said about their reflexes, it explained Asajj’s eerie ability to hunt out would-be assassins. Or the times where intuition seemed far too generous a term for what she could do or predict.

Finally, Padmé nodded, accepting. After all, knowing such a fact hardly changed how she viewed Asajj. She was Force-sensitive— not a Jedi, unless Padmé had missed something— and, perhaps more importantly, her friend.

“I . . . when I was growing up, I was taught by a Jedi who had become lost on the planet,” Asajj said, slowly. She finally looked at Padmé, who nodded encouragingly. “He was killed in a skirmish with local pirates, but he’s probably the closest thing I had to a father. I came to Coruscant to find his people— the ones he had spoken so highly of.

“But I was far more impressed by _you_ than any of the Jedi I saw,” Asajj hesitated. “I still have his . . . _our_ lightsabers. I would like to use them to protect you but . . .”

Padmé bit back her instinct to defend the Jedi. Asajj herself had seen that the Jedi truly acted as an extension of the Senate. But she could see how the Jedi, so wrapped in their traditions and Temple, would seem distant from the democracy they worked in. 

“But you don’t wish to be associated with the Jedi?” Padmé finished.

Asajj nodded. “My actions will be judged by themselves, and not some overseeing organization.”

“Is that not the case working for me?” Padmé teasingly questioned. Asajj merely scowled at her and she laughed, tension suddenly leaving her. Force, she’d thought Asajj had been about to unleash more bad news. “I see your point. I’ll get a permit in order for you to use the lightsabers— no interaction needed with the Order.”

Asajj gave a grateful smile, her stern face mellowed by the expression.

“Though I wouldn’t rule out the Temple. It’s always less scary to have guidance, I think. You could find mentors there,” Padmé offered gently.

She rolled her eyes. “Like that kid— what was his name, Skywalker? I think he spent far more time falling than doing anything else.”

“You _did_ remember him,” Padmé grinned triumphantly. “ _Aw_ — you always act so tough, like you don’t care, but really you’re the one who stays the latest in the office when we’re working on campaigns—”

Asajj leaned away from Padmé enthusiastic hand pats, a look of distaste on her face. “Hey, I only stay up to unholy hours because I have to make sure _you_ don’t fall and crack your skull open when you walk home. Aren’t you being a bit too cheerful about this?”

Padmé sobered. “I have to be about something. Who knows when our next opportunity will be. Don’t I get to be grateful that my friend has more ways to protect herself?” She smiled, “though maybe don’t flaunt them around _too_ much. That might be inviting a fight.” 

Padmé tried not to think about the first few months, trying to explain to the senatorial commission that gave her funds to have an intern that, yes, she needed to pay medical bills, not for anyone on her staff, but for people _her staff_ had injured.

Asajj gave a crooked grin. “Hey, I don’t pick fights. Fights pick _me_.”

Padmé huffed a laugh. How cute that Asajj thought she was so different from Anakin.

* * *

“You did well, Anakin. I’m surprised you’re not so pleased— you’d been looking forward to your Trials for years,” Windu looked at him in concern. 

They sat outside the Temple, the overcast clouds casting a bleak light on the courtyard. Not even the setting sun could break through the cover, the backs of the clouds instead turning a bloody pink. Anakin couldn’t help but remember the flood of airships that had come down, carrying seemingly endless streams of injured. A group of Padawans sparred in the distance, young enough to have not been brought with the reinforcements on Geonosis. It was almost possible to imagine war wasn’t looming over them.

Anakin shrugged. “Maybe it sounds weird, Master, but I had been looking forward to taking the traditional Trials. _Even_ the debate trial,” he added, ruefully. After all the unusual circumstances around his acceptance to the Order, it’d been nice to think some part of his journey would’ve been normal.

Windu laughed. “Then I suppose I taught you better than I had thought to make you long for bureaucracy.”

“At least . . .” Anakin trailed off, shaking his head. There wasn’t any need to bring down the mood more than he had. The Temple corridors hung quiet with grief. Windu stayed silent, patient. Anakin sighed. “It’s just, after what’d I’d been dreaming about, I’m glad that . . . I didn’t lose you. As well.”

Thankfully, Master Windu didn’t chastise Anakin for his attachment. Instead he seemed to be genuinely considering it. Anakin shifted in his seat at his intense stare.

“You’ve been dreaming?” Windu looked at him carefully.

Anakin looked away, feeling embarrassed. He didn’t want all the pity he’d seen Padmé’s eyes reflected in Windu’s. “It didn’t seem relevant,” he said stiffly.

“Do your dreams have a tendency to come true?” Windu asked. Once, Anakin might’ve thought his tone was accusing, but now he could see it was just Windu’s tone. It was matter of fact, no pity in his tone. And Windu’s tragic inclination toward resting bitch face.

Anakin shrugged. “Sometimes. I’d dreamed about mom. And that came true.” His brows furrowed. “Is this some sort of Jedi curse, Master?” The dreams, the nightmares— so often had they carried him to the desert, he’d thought it was just a remnant of his childhood. Hadn’t thought anything of it.

Windu hesitated. “Foresight is a gift of the Force that not many have. Maybe some would say it is a curse. We trust in the Jedi who have been given this gift, such as Master Yoda. Maybe with time, you as well.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer. Anakin stared at the Padawans. They shouted in exuberation, whooping loudly at the moves of their friends. The words hung unspoken between them— _I didn’t want this._

He started slightly when Windu’s hand gently touched his shoulder. There was a moment of understanding between them until the hand twitched slightly.

Anakin frowned, looking at it closer. “Didn’t I fix the wiring in your hand ages ago? Did some sand get in the mechanics?”

Windu blanched slightly— something Anakin had only figured out how to notice after a decade under his tutelage. “Well, in the skirmish on Geonosis, we fought with Dooku for a brief moment. I got . . . distracted,” Windu said, frowning. 

Anakin blinked, then the indignation came. “You let Dooku chop your hand off? Did you at least pick up your hand after?” _Maybe_ if it wasn’t too mangled by the lightsaber’s heat he could refuse it to save him the hassle . . .

“It’s currently buried under tons of stone and sand in an obscure cave on Geonosis— do you really want to go get it?” Windu asked dryly. “Don’t act as though you won’t find it a fun challenge to improve this arm now.”

It was Anakin’s turn to frown. “ _Maybe_ ,” he mumbled.

Windu smiled. “Be thankful it wasn’t my other arm. Come, Padawan, we’ll deal with my arm later. It’s time for your ceremony.”

Right. He was a Jedi— or soon would be. Anakin wasn’t sure if he wanted that yet either.

They stood and walked to the Council chambers. Try as he might to delay the moment, Anakin had grown used to Windu’s relentless walking pace when walking and this moment was no different. They entered the chambers without preamble and though it appeared no different from earlier that day, Anakin couldn’t help but feel as though the atmosphere had suddenly shifted. To one of less oxygen no doubt.

The Masters stood before him and Windu left him to stand beside Master Yoda.

At once, the Master raised their lightsabers, igniting them in a roar. The room was filled by the glow of the many sabers, blue, green, and Windu’s purple reflecting off the chamber’s broad windows. Reaching out a gnarled hand, Master Yoda gestured for Anakin to move forward.

The old Grand Master’s eyes stared into him, as if he could read Anakin’s being in just a glance. With what Windu had said of Yoda’s dreams, he didn’t doubt it.

Yoda’s wizened eyes squinted in a pleased smile. “Angry you are. Afraid you are.”

Anakin held back a scowl. “What do you mean?” He forced himself to keep his voice level. He exhaled slowly. “You told me as a child that my anger and fear were bad.”

But Yoda merely smiled more. “Anger and fear I sense in you, yes. But clear are your eyes. Untethered, you are.” He shuffled forward and had Anakin kneel before him. Yoda’s green lightsaber crackled in his eyes. “See yourself, Skywalker, you do. See to it that anger and hate do not lead into darkness, but burn a light brighter than all others.”

With that, Yoda’s lightsaber came down in a gentle arc, warming Anakin’s neck for a moment and then it was gone— taking his Padawan braid and apprenticeship with it.

Still looking down in the reverential position expected of Padawans in their ceremony, he saw Yoda offer up his braid.

“Teeter on an edge you do, Skywalker. How proceed, will you?” Yoda asked.

Anakin raised his head, sitting back on his heels. “War has come. We need to protect people. Those who will be hurt.”

Yoda bowed his head. “Indeed.” For a moment, Anakin thought he saw sadness on his face. But then it cleared to Yoda’s regular serene nature. He wondered if Yoda had perfected releasing his emotions to the Force. Perhaps he needed to talk to someone in the Halls of Healing as well.

“Think you are ready to face what is ahead I do. Brightness in your future, I see,” Yoda said solemnly.

Anakin bowed his head again. “You honor me, Master.” He took the braid in his hands. How light and stiff it felt, irrevocably separate from him now severed. No longer would it grow with him. His fingers curled around it instinctively, feeling the wooden beads woven into the bottom. It was no thicker than his smallest finger.

Anakin swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He stood. “Thank you.”

“May the Force be with you, Knight Skywalker.”

* * *

The Jedi Council was gathered again, as they had many times in the past few days since the tumultuous battle on Geonosis. The newly elected Supreme Chancellor joined them, his brow seemingly permanently furrowed as they discussed nothing less than the fate of the galaxy. Windu sighed heavily. It was going to be another long meeting.

“It is clear that our judgment was lacking before. We must now defer to the Senate,” Plo said. His voice through the vocalizer sounded weary— they were all weary.

Master Shaak Ti frowned. “And the Senate has decided to establish the Jedi as the leaders of this ‘Grand Army of the Republic’,” she said, her naturally gentle-toned voice tense. The air was heavy with the unspoken reminder that the Jedi were keepers of the peace. To directly engage in warfare was against their nature.

Mace sighed, already feeling a headache forming. “Perhaps it makes sense. We know now that there is a Sith behind this war.”

Kenobi’s report that Dooku had informed him that the Senate itself was at the whim of the Sith hung heavy on them. Until they knew more, they had decided not to jump to accusations— the Sith were cunning, better to let them think they were unawares. After all, the Jedi were not blind enough to let all of the many millions of worlds fall to darkness unknowingly.

Chancellor Palpatine stiffened, “oh?” Most civilians knew little of the Sith, even those in politics who affiliated with the Jedi. Sometimes it was better that way.

“Indeed, we were blinded by our attachment to our remembrance of the Count. But it is clear now that he leads the Confederacy with a dark agenda,” Mace said. For a moment, the Council was silent as they mourned the loss.

“He took advantage of our grace to an old friend,” Kit Fisto frowned. The newest member of the Council, no one was more aware of their losses. Just a week ago, Master Trebor had sat where he now did.

They had lost Dooku— but they had also lost far too many Padawans, too many Jedi.

“Unsolved as well is the mystery of Tyranus,” Master Yoda said gruffly, bowing his head. The mysterious man who had allegedly hired Jango Fett.

“We cannot afford the allowance we gave Dooku,” Master Piell grunted. His scarred face grimaced. The other Masters murmured agreement. 

“We must search the Force for the Sith,” Mace said. “This will take great concentration. We should wait for Masters Billaba and Koth to rejoin us to attempt to do so,” he nodded respectively at their holoprojections. 

“Additionally, the origin of the clones has yet to be determined. We know now that they come from the bounty hunter, Jango Fett, and that they were allegedly ordered by Master Sifo-Dyas, though the details of that timeline is unknown. I propose that we station one of the Council on Kamino to oversee their work,” Plo said. He nodded to Mace. “Your hypothesis of the Sith was correct. Now, we must make sure that we keep close eye over this unexpected army.”

“I will volunteer for this position,” Master Shaak Ti bowed her head. “The clones may have come from a suitable candidate, but they still require training— should they be useful to us in the long-term.”

“And who will be taking control of this army?” Depa asked, her soft voice clear. Through the holoprojection, Windu could see the tension in his former Padawan’s expression.

“If I may,” Palpatine interjected. “The Senate believed that the Jedi Order handled the clone troopers well on Geonosis, all things considered. Placing the army beneath the authority of the Order, which must still be checked by the Senate, seemed the most logical arrangement.”

“The Jedi are the peacekeepers of the galaxy. What will worlds see when we become the leaders of a war?” Plo frowned.

“Should anything go awry with the troopers, it should be noted that we are likely the only ones with the capabilities to deal with that,” Shaak pointed out. 

Ki-Adi nodded. “Not to mention if the Sith truly are involved in this war, we must be wary of who else may emerge on their side.”

“The Senate is prepared to instate the Jedis as generals of the Grand Army of the Republic,” Palpatine offered helpfully. Depa’s increasingly furrowed brows didn’t escape Windu’s notice. The Jedi had not been called upon for such a role as this in many millennia.

Yoda’s head was heavy. He raised it slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. “No other way there is. A plan that is then,” he nodded. 

_Generals_. Windu wasn’t sure if the tension in his jaw was from just the stress of the situation or the Jedi committing to such a position.

“Chancellor, leave us now would you? Further matters I have to discuss with the Council, pertaining to the Senate it does not,” Yoda kindly asked.

Palpatine seemed surprised at the dismissal, accepting calm quickly smoothing over his expression. “Of course, of course. As much as this situation grieves me, I am honored to serve alongside this Council.” With a genial smile, he nodded his head and left. The doors hissed shut.

Windu sighed. Of the possibilities of whom would inherit the Senate, Palpatine was not the worst by a long shot. He seemed willing to cooperate with the Jedi in getting matters done, something Chancellor Valorum had never been the most efficient at.

Yoda hummed. “Yes, speak with Master Windu in particular I wanted. In regard to your former Padawan, Knight Skywalker . . .”

* * *

“Master Windu! I’m glad I caught you,” Obi-Wan moved to walk beside Windu.

“I see you’ve healed then, Obi-Wan?” Windu observed, looking to his ear pointedly.

Obi-Wan nodded. “The healers did an excellent job, as usual.” He hesitated, words suddenly sticking in his throat despite how much he had thought over them. “I wanted to tell you, erm, though I have had my disagreements with the Council in the past—” despite Windu’s dry look, he pushed on— “I wanted to say that the Council may use me however. Seeing the Count on Geonosis, I understand my own thoughts better.

“The Jedi may have made mistakes, but it doesn’t warrant the indiscriminate slaughter of them and whoever else stands in the way of the droid army. It’s clear that Dooku has fallen in a way that sense can no longer reach him.”

Windu’s expression softened. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. I suppose you’ve heard that the Jedi are to be the Generals of this army? It’ll be a big commitment— especially away from your . . . current obligations.” Windu stared at him intently and Obi-Wan knew he remembered what had happened on Geonosis. Guilt rose in him.

He hesitated. In his mind’s eye, he could see Satine, smiling. How the quiet that would settle over the desert landscape of Mandalore was so different from the violent roar of Tatooine’s sandstorms and Coruscant’s ceaseless sounds. Bo, Korkie— they had become family too. Obi-Wan couldn't bring himself to wholly regret letting Dooku go if only to save them. But they were not his first family and he couldn't bring himself to abandon the Jedi.

“The Jedi are my family— I wouldn’t leave them for the worst of it,” Obi-Wan said honestly. To his surprise, Windu didn’t chide him on the obvious statement of attachment. 

“I can’t say that we’re not relieved to hear it,” Windu said. He looked off in the hall, at the reflections of natural light. “I feel a looming darkness. It’s all of our duties to fight that. I’ll be glad knowing you’re here with us for that.”

Windu hesitated a moment before reaching out a hand and gently patting Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Anakin. Qui-Gon would be proud in both accounts.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know why the words meant so much to him— he’d hardly ever even seen Maser Windu and Qui-Gon interact aside from the chastising his Master often received— but, in a way, Obi-Wan felt he’d hardly gotten to know Qui-Gon. He’d been so wrapped up in his own anger and frustration until his Master’s death had slapped him in the face. If Windu, who’d teased Qui-Gon but at least had _known_ him thought Obi-Wan was doing well by his Master? Well, that wasn’t half bad.

Obi-Wan blinked quickly and cleared his throat. “Right— thank you.” He hesitated, remembering what Dooku had said, before his imprisonment. “The Count had mentioned someone— Darth Sidious, a Sith Lord. He claimed that he had influence in the Senate.”

Windu stared at him, brow furrowed. “He mentioned it to me as well. Once, perhaps, is simple manipulation. Twice . . .”

“Dooku is not someone to make up threats. He twists the truth to suit him,” Obi-Wan said grimly.

Windu nodded. “There is much to think on. Thank you, Obi-Wan May the Force be with you as well, Kenobi,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan bowed in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... long time no update? This chapter was delayed by a combination of school + me constantly reworking it and not being satisfied. But I'm very excited for the future of this fic! A lot more time jumping around will be happening and, as always, I take whatever suits me from the EU! Let's hope I don't drown under the weight of yet another massive ensemble cast :)  
> As always, thanks for reading!! Y'alls support means the world to me :)
> 
> (also Windu is a speed walker, convince me otherwise)


	5. V: CONNECT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Satine visits Coruscant, Obi-Wan leaves Coruscant, and for the briefest moment, they connect.

Satine hesitated at the door. The small plate by the door reassured her— _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ — it was definitely Obi-Wan’s room so why was she fidgeting outside it like a teenage girl with a crush? Stars, it wasn’t like he was her _husband_ or something, she chided herself.

With that, she raised her hand to knock on the door.

Satine had the thought to surprise Obi-Wan on her way to Coruscant. She was already ahead of schedule, arriving the night before her morning presentation to the Senate of the state of Mandalore. Before she declared neutrality.

Well, perhaps she did have good reason to be nervous. But not with Obi-Wan.

As soon as her knuckles touched the door, it smoothly slid open and a surprised Obi-Wan appeared. His blue eyes widened in surprise and then immediately softened. It was a look that still never failed to warm her.

“Obi,” she smiled, cupping his cheek.

He laughed softly. “I sensed you— what are you doing here? Come in,” he invited, quickly moving to the small kitchen area in his apartment. He filled up a kettle and raised it, “tea?”

Satine nodded gratefully. “I have to be on-world to present to the Senate early tomorrow morning, but I wanted to see you first.”

They gravitated toward each other, always seeking touch. Satine relaxed into him.

“I know this is taking longer than I said it would,” Obi-Wan admitted, abashed. “And it will likely take longer. This doesn’t look like it will end any time soon— the war.”

Satine looked up, staring at him in concern. Obi-Wan frankly looked exhausted. Only in the light could she see the prominent eye bags under his eyes. She traced his face lightly, fingers trembling slightly. Since Concordia, her doctors had never fully been able to subside the tremors.

“Won’t you be returning to Mandalore? We will not escape unscathed from this either,” she pointed out.

Obi-Wan took her hand gently. “I know. But I cannot stand by one planet when countless others will suffer in worse positions.”

Satine sighed. “You know you always overextend yourself. Take care of yourself before you can help others,” she murmured. She caught his doubtful look and squeezed his hand. “Hey— don’t give me that look. You know what I mean. I don’t want to see you change . . . drastically from this.”

He huffed a tired laugh. “Darling, I think we’re all going to change from this.”

Satine looked at him more intently. Obi-Wan was avoiding her eyes. She frowned— he was hiding something. Of course, they were all going to change— it was war— but she’d be damned if it tore apart her family. After all, a war was no time to start a family, but she’d given it more thought. 

Satine was scared— of the war, of becoming far too like her father. But Bo had encouraged her— _she’d_ never shied away from anything because of their father. Though, Satine doubted Bo had ever shied away from anything.

But before she could mention it, Obi-Wan leaned down and started kissing her face and neck until she started wiggling from the sensation. “ _Obi_ — your beard—”

“Come on— I have to make up for breaking my promise,” he declared to her collarbone, tickling her further.

Satine grudgingly smiled, laughing at his exaggerated show of chivalry showing her to the adjacent bedroom.

* * *

Satine woke to Obi-Wan’s face smashed into her back and arms wrapped around her. She shifted and felt Obi-Wan mumble and hold her tighter. The room was still dark, only the faintest light from the distant city outside leaking in through the small windows. 

She reached to the bedside table, grabbing her chrono. It read out 0513. She sighed. Duty called.

“Sorry darling, I must go. You know how the Senate is,” she murmured, pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s shoulder as she untangled herself from his grasp. Somehow, he remained asleep. She smiled fondly at the look of blissed-out unconsciousness. Well, there had been quite a fun reunion last night, she recalled with a faint flush.

But there was no time to reminisce. If Satine was to make it to the apartment actually provided to her by the Senate and dress properly by the morning session, she would have to leave now. The headdress and formal fittings of the Duchess usually required help, as inconvenient as it was to bring aides with her.

Satine pulled her outer clothes on, preparing to call a taxi on the premises of the Jedi Temple— they always did get fussy about traffic. Well, at least she didn’t have to deal with the fanfare of how Padmé arranged her staff— poor woman. Sometimes there were perks to ruling a small, relatively unimportant world.

Unfortunately, it also meant that there were no allowances for tardiness. The Senate body as a whole could dawdle as they willed— expecting thousands of rulers to come together in a timely manner was unreasonable. But her address was on the agenda and lateness never reflected well.

She breathed in deep as she got in the speeder taxi. _Relax_. Distantly, she heard herself request the Senatorial apartment complex.

Satine hardly got nervous before speeches anymore— anything but would be a serious barrier to any ruler. But the knowledge of what she was about to do— only a handful of worlds had declared neutrality and none had exactly been received warmly by the Senate henceforth. The Separatist worlds at least were treated with clear disdain. The neutral ones were placed in an ambiguous space no one seemed to want to touch.

_They hate us for leaving and yet desperately need us._

Satine entered her apartment— sparsely decorated per the time she spent there, and Kedu and Phe greeted her, bowing slightly.

“Now, let’s prepare for the galaxy, shall we?” she said with a wry grin.

* * *

Obi-Wan’s hand reached out to touch Satine, half-asleep. He was surprised to touch cool sheets instead. Blearily, he squinted his eyes open to sunlight streaming in the room.

Crap, Satine had mentioned a Senate meeting, hadn’t she? She must’ve left early. Damn, and Obi-Wan had forgotten to mention that he was being sent out already. Fighting had broken out, particularly in the Mid Rim, and some of the other Masters had already taken off with their battalions of fresh clones.

Obi-Wan rolled over in the bed, sighing softly. His back ached slightly— the Temple beds definitely weren’t made for two adults.

A bit serendipitously, Anakin had been deployed with him. At least Obi-Wan would look forward to seeing him. It was unfortunate to him that he would have to break the news to Satine through holocomm.

 _Though perhaps_. . . he turned the thought over in his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure how long Senate meetings lasted— or what precisely Satine had gone to visit about— but he was sure he would be able to catch Satine before the cruiser left.

That decided, Obi-Wan rolled out of bed. He reached down to grab his discarded robes then reconsidered his appearance. Perhaps the fresher was in order first.

* * *

_Lotho Minor. Unspecified time._

The planet’s burning heat of an atmosphere seared into the beast’s lungs. There it nestled near the hurt and rage and hatred that threatened to blind him in the haze of pollution.

The mother witch’s touch had finally faded from his limbs, yet he still felt free in everything but mind. The blood of his brother still clung under his fingernails, feeling as wet as when it first spilled onto that sacred ground. He could still feel the bones shifting under his hand.

The horned beast bellowed, eyes burning and cries overcome with a quality that sounded like loss.

_Feral_

But he would not fail his other task.

So he crawled down. The beast escaped from the scornful gaze of the sun, unknowing that his brother once had taken the very same path ten years ago. The towers of debris and long thrown-away things trembled in his path and parted before his magicked abilities.

It was in those tunnels below that the beast then found another whose eyes glowed like sulfur. The beast looked down to see a mechanical monster and understood this brother was broken too.

And yet while his skin was blood red beneath the grime and shadow, there was a heartbeat beneath it that screamed of wronged machinery and a lust for vengeance.

 _I am filth_ , the wretched part-man, part-machine groaned and the beast cried out in sympathy.

 _I will help you, I will fix you,_ the beast promised. His bloodied hands raised to protect and the seething voice of the part-man, part-machine echoed in the darkness.

 _Obi-Wan Kenobi_.

* * *

_Senate Building. Present time._

“My esteemed colleagues, I come before you today in solemn news,” Satine spoke, voice amplified by the microphone embedded in the seat. Her platform was elevated, raised to attention before the Senate. Beside her stood Senator Merrik, his clothed head bowed respectfully.

“Mandalore must declare neutrality in the war between the Republic and Confederacy of Independent Systems. Henceforth, the Council of Neutral Systems will be established. We seek to represent those whose voices are not heard,” she spoke. There were murmurs of discontent throughout the crowd.

“Cowardice!” someone called out. 

Satine faltered. She looked out at the crowd of faces, most of them disgruntled, some of carefully-constructed impartiality. Almost instinctively, she looked for a familiar face— _Padmé_. Young, female— they had both bonded over the years in their shared struggles dealing with stubborn opposition in the Senate and outside. Padmé looked as regal as ever in her own traditional Nubian dress, but the facade cracked slightly as locked eyes with Satine, giving the faintest smile.

 _Right_. Because Satine wasn’t betraying them by declaring neutrality— not their friendship, or the Republic. In their own ways, they fought. Satine had supported Padmé as she stood before the Senate, demanding they act on the trade blockade. Now Satine stood, no less alone, doing what was right for Mandalore.

“True cowardice is ignoring what is best for my people. There must be a forum for communication. This Senate is the forefront of that— for both sides of the argument.” Satine glanced over the Trade Federation party. She knew her words sounded ludicrous when a billion-credit military bill had passed just weeks ago, but dammit— she had to do _something_.

“We may not agree with the violent actions this Senate is taking, but the communication of culture and commerce cannot be underestimated. Few worlds are fully self-sustaining and we will do what is best for our people and morals. For that reason, we form this council, rather secede from the Senate as a whole.”

Satine had to try— for Mandalore and every world that could not afford to be destroyed in the midst of a conflict that would boil down to numbers and strategy. There was no consideration of people in those equations except as resources and targets. Satine had seen it happen before and that had merely been confined to her home planet.

* * *

_Mandalore._

Bo-Katan watched the holoscreen intently, her sister’s face projected upon it. She closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples, leaning against Satine’s desk. Still, Satine’s voice rang out clearly, calm and collected as she explained the basis of their neutrality.

Which was all fine and well, until it made Satine a larger target than before. And then it became Bo-Katan’s problem.

The Mandalorians viewed Satine as Mand’alor— after what she had done for their people with Death Watch, it was considered her victory. There had been murmuring of Bo-Katan bearing the darksaber rather than Satine, but, well, that was just how they worked and the people got used to it. Tradition could change— Satine’s speech now proved it.

But it didn’t change that the rest of the Republic wouldn’t see it that way. Bo-Katan had been following the Separatists’ movements and while it was likely Mandalore would still have far more allies in the Republic, she wanted to understand the Republic’s capabilities as well.

She considered her options. The Republic’s greatest assets currently were the Jedi and clone troopers. Fortunately, she knew someone with personal experience with the latter.

Bo-Katan lifted her comm, dialing in the captain of the Mandalorian Protectors. “Rau, can you come in? I’m in the office.”

“Of course, Lady Bo-Katan,” Fenn Rau replied curtly. A moment later a few knocks sounded and he entered. Rau was one of the younger of the Mandalorian Protectors, the guard reformed in the wake of Death Watch’s dissolution, made to protect the Mand’alor. Satine had insisted it was unnecessary to reform the old group, which had fallen apart during the civil wars. But Bo-Katan had insisted harder.

Rau was a good person— loyal and a skilled pilot. Bo-Katan had flown alongside him a number of times.

“Rau— you trained the Republic’s clone troopers a few years ago, didn’t you?” Bo-Katan asked.

Rau nodded. “I did, among others. We hadn’t known it as a commission of the Republic at the time— the job was a job.”

Bo-Katan leaned back. “Tell me about it— everything you can remember. My sister is risking her life for Mandalore and damn well are we going to protect our Manda’lor.”

Rau looked to the holoscreen, a grudging look of respect on his face. Maybe Satine wasn’t focused on continuing the Mandalorian warrior tradition, but nobody could say she didn't have guts.

“Of course,” he replied. 

* * *

Obi-Wan walked through the outer corridors of the Senate building. Politicians of all species were milling around— the session had ended it seemed. He walked with purpose, having no desire to be called aside by any of them that weren’t his wife.

He scanned the crowd, a slight tension building. Perhaps it was all the life-forms around him, but Obi-Wan felt like he could feel her, but where precisely was muddled. _Where was she?_ He didn’t want to leave without seeing her again— who knew how long he would be gone? Obi-Wan reached for his comm, ready to call her when he heard his name.

A voice called. “Master Kenobi!”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan turned. He was surprised to see Chancellor Palpatine. Well, Supreme Chancellor now, apparently. Of all the people . . . Obi-Wan sighed under his breath. It wouldn’t do for the Jedi to publicly ignore the Chancellor, not when the relationship of the Republic and Order was expanding in the war.

Obi-Wan pushed his frustration into the Force. _Calm_. He feigned a civil expression, “Chancellor. How can I help you?” His eyes wandered around the surrounding area.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Palpatine smiled genially. “I was surprised to see you come out to the Senate. Do you have business here?” He paused, watching Obi-Wan closer. Subtly, he guided them to a more secluded area of the hall. 

“Were you perhaps looking for the Duchess? I know the two of you are quite close,” he asked, voice full of concern.

Obi-Wan nodded tersely. “Yes, I was looking for Satine.” He sighed. “Though, if I’m being honest, we haven’t been as close as of late.” He blinked. Why the hell had he just told the Supreme Chancellor of the _Galactic Republic_ that?

But Palpatine merely nodded sympathetically. “In time of a galaxy-wide conflict, I think it is forgivable if your personal life becomes a bit afflicted, don’t you think?” He added, “oh, and I believe the Duchess has left. She said she had other arrangements as well.”

So she’d left. Without a word or even scribbled holonote. Obi-Wan shifted, suddenly uncomfortable talking about himself. He cleared his throat. “Have you found yourself much affected, Chancellor?”

Palpatine considered his words solemnly. For a moment, Obi-Wan saw a flash of grief that was quickly buried beneath a professional demeanor. “Of course I’ve felt the losses of this war immensely already. You know, I wish I had had children. Though I’m old now, I like to think of the many worlds under the Republic my children,” he said fondly. “So you can imagine the distress it causes me to think of them squabbling in such a way.”

Obi-Wan watched him, surprised at his open answer. The longing for children . . . well, it made sense that it would only grow stronger with time. _Is that what I’m to be? An old man struck by war, wishing that things could have happened differently?_

He found himself wanting to talk to Palpatine, confide in him. After all, their subject of conversation was hardly political and the honesty was refreshing to hear.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you never have children?” Obi-Wan asked. He felt his face heat-up at the unusually blunt question— normally when the other participant in the conversation wasn’t Satine, who he found himself regularly tongue-tied by, he was able to string together reasonably appropriate measures of speech. “Pardon— it’s just so many other senators and politicians find the time to . . . .” He trailed off, deciding to cut himself off before he genuinely offended Palpatine.

But the older man merely chuckled. “No, no, I understand.” He sighed. “I think I’ve merely had a bad luck of the draw. There were some romances when I was younger but they simply never worked out. And I could never imagine myself raising a child by myself— not with work, you understand. Anyway, I wanted that family or not at all.” He smiled, a bit sadly, shrugging nonchalantly. “Count yourself fortunate with your Duchess, I suppose!”

Obi-Wan smiled, not really feeling it. “Well, I must be leaving then, Chancellor. Thank you for . . . the clarity you’ve offered.”

“I find that in times of crisis, it’s best to be honest, my boy,” Palpatine said, his expression a touch weary.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Boy?” 

Palpatine laughed genially, “my apologies. Once you get to my age, Master Kenobi, everyone seems young.”

Obi-Wan smiled slightly. Speaking like that, the Chancellor sounded a bit like Master Yoda, though even he had nothing on the Grandmaster nearing nine-hundred.

With that, Obi-Wan bid farewell and began the walk back to the Jedi Temple. He took a circuitous route through the Coruscant surface-level city. As tranquil as the Temple could be, at times, it felt disconnected from the greater planet. Solace within the Force was all well and fine until even meditation wasn’t enough to calm the thoughts racing in his head.

At times like that, the noise of the city aided him in drowning out his own noise. It was grounding, in its own way. 

In the same way listening to Palpatine had helped ease his worries. He had always made a distinction between civilians and Jedi, but perhaps Palpatine was wise in his own way— through years of dealing with the very people Obi-Wan was so wary of. To escape with some moral dignity was an accomplishment in itself.

Obi-Wan turned his thoughts over. Satine and him were disconnected, for now. But times were tumultuous— it couldn’t be helped. They would see each other again and, before then, Obi-Wan would comm her. It was clear this was a regret he didn’t want to realize and Satine was the only one he could imagine having children with.

His chrono beeped. Obi-Wan checked it. Damn— it was approaching time for him to join the cruiser for lift off. He took one last look at the Coruscant streets— bustling full of life, the war seeming so far away. What it would be to live in such a bubble, Obi-Wan mused.

* * *

“Are you ready, Duchess?” Merrik asked.

Satine gave a terse smile. “As I’ll ever be.” It was only the first meeting of the Council of Neutral Systems— one she’d just promised to the whole Senate was in proper, working order but in reality was just as fractured and unstable as the Confederacy they opposed.

With that encouraging thought, she entered the conference room.

It was packed nearly full, easy over a hundred senators and rulers in the room, talking amongst each other. Many of them were from small worlds like Mandalore and had sought allyship with one another before. Satine was glad to see friends among them— Senator Kin Robb 

As soon as Satine stepped though, the din fell to a whisper and eyes fell to her. Nearly as soon as it had quieted, scattered applause began and picked up momentum. Satine blinked in surprise, flattered. She raised her hand for silence and the clapping gradually petered off.

“All things considered, the Council of Neutral Systems was accepted fairly well at the Senate meeting,” she began. “I know it doesn’t seem it— but there were no motions to draft sanctions or worse against declared neutral systems. That’s a start.” She gestured for Merrik to step forward.

“Senator Merrik has drafted up a declaration of neutrality. We advise that all worlds wishing to commit with us in neutrality take a copy of this document as reference for your own. It outlines basic trade expectations and association with the Council of Neutral Systems,” Satine explained. She saw datapads flash as the document was sent out.

Satine looked out at the crowd, hopeful faces staring back at her. Trusting her. She couldn’t help the feeling of worry rise in her. 

While the worlds assembled likely had little strategic value to the Separatists outside of territory and resources, it couldn’t be denied that most of the neutral systems had smaller reserves. They weren’t prepared for war and without active Republic bases on-world, they would be reliant upon aid should anything overwhelm them.

Satine despised war— for what it did to people, for what it drove people to do. Conquering a neutral system had little value in harming the Republic— but in the fear that it would cause? The unrest on and off world?

She wished she had had time to talk things over with Obi-Wan. He always did have an eye for tactics. _Which is why the Republic needs him_. The rational part of Satine knew that was true, but the other, selfish part demanded he stay with Mandalore.

But wasn’t that what the Council was about? Uniting worlds to help more than just Mandalore. Satine couldn’t blame Obi-Wan for wanting— feeling obliged— to do the same. 

Stars, Satine hoped she wasn’t leading these worlds to a scenario worse than simply declaring loyalty to the Republic.

She forced a smile. “Now, let’s discuss if there are any measures in particular we wish to raise to the Senate next meeting.”

* * *

Obi-Wan picked up the bag he had packed earlier and quickly made his way to one of the larger Temple hangars. The bag was small and compact, filled with extra clothing. The only object of sentiment he carried with him as the Mandalorian-crafted blade gifted during Satine and his marriage. The blade was minimally ornate, far more practical than would be expected— but that was how Mandalorians functioned. Indeed, partners usually sparred with the blades prior to vows until blood on each side was shed. It was seen as a sign of respect— to be willing to shed blood for the other.

Instead, Satine and Obi-Wan had taken a slightly tamer approach, what with his years of Jedi training and Satine’s preference to use blasters if having to use weapons at all. Obi-Wan’s right thumb still bore the white crescent scar the blade had left as they both cut themselves in ceremony.

Something had urged him to pack the blade, though looking upon it now brought up a wave of conflicted emotion. _Satine._

Still, he kept it in his bag.

Obi-Wan shouldered the bag’s strap again as he approached the cruiser— the _Negotiator_. He almost wanted to laugh at the name— he was sure someone in the directory was laughing.

A clone trooper was standing before the ship at attention and he nodded at Obi-Wan, clearly indicating he approach. His armor had orange accents

“General Kenobi, sir. CC-2224 reporting in. I’ve been assigned under you,” he said, matter-of-fact. Calm, in control. After all, this was what these men were made for.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan had the urge to rip the captain’s helmet off— he needed to see a _face_ , to feel like he was connecting to another being. To know that there was someone else as flummoxed in all of this as he was. But instead, he took a deep breath, releasing his agitation to the Force. It worked for the moment.

“Very good. Do you have a name, captain?” Obi-Wan asked. He reached out with the Force, touching the captain’s mind for the briefest moment. He felt human— Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he had expected anything different.

The trooper’s helmet tilted slightly, considering the question. “Yes, sir.” There was the slightest pause, almost a hesitation. “Captain Cody, sir.” The stiffness in his voice eased slightly and in the Force his presence shone brighter.

Obi-Wan smiled, seemingly the first genuine one that day. “Excellent. I look forward to working with you, Captain Cody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... can y'all tell i've watched rebels between this and the last chapter. very excited to subject fenn rau to my writing abilities.  
> as always, thanks for reading! kudos & comments are loved :)


	6. VI: MASTER AND APPRENTICE II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the new Padawan emerges. Also, Anakin is forced to confront his own prejudices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this chapter was such a beast i had to split it in two. this might be one of my favorite parts to write tho, what with ahsoka and a'sharad. enjoy!
> 
> (note- there are timestamps but just keep in mind that the ahsoka and anakin POVs are occurring at separate times!)  
> (chapter is called master and apprentice II because of the one-shot earlier named the same with dooku and obi-wan)

_Christophsis. Two months after Geonosis._

When Ahsoka Tano was assigned Anakin Skywalker as her Master, she didn't know what to expect. The young Knight was a bit of an oddity in the Temple gossip circles— a _human_ initiate who had been beyond being of age when he was found and was taken on by Master Windu? It was already strange to see human Jedi, what with their abilities being without natural aids like extra appendages. And Master Windu— one of the greatest Jedi Masters, no less— needless to say, there were many whispers about Anakin Skywalker.

Force, Ahsoka wasn’t sure _what_ she’d expected being a Padawan would be like— but it wasn’t like this. Throughout all of her time as a youngling, she’d often seen Padawans running by, distinctive by their respective braids or beads, following their Masters to new, exciting places. Past that, she’d occasionally hear Masters discussing current politics.

But _war_. 

She hadn’t expected that.

The halls of the Jedi Temple felt silent, the heavy weight of the lives lost hanging over the normally bustling center of the Jedi Order.

Ahsoka’s stomach was twisting into knots when she was called to the Jedi Council chambers. The weight of her new Padawan beads had been an unfamiliar weight, not yet the comfort they would become. Her nerves eased slightly at the sight of Master Plo Koon. As her founder, while the Masters did their best to plead impartiality, Ahsoka had grown to recognize the slight crinkle of Koon’s cheeks that conveyed fondness.

Master Windu and Master Luminara were also seated, the rest of the cushions empty. Something in Ahsoka’s gut dropped further at the thought of all the other Masters being out in the galaxy. _Fighting._ Since the declaration of war, it seemed all the galaxy was suddenly thrown into the chaos of choosing sides.

“Masters?” Ahsoka bowed respectfully in greeting.

“Padawan Tano,” Master Windu greeted solemnly, “you have done well to pass your Initiate Trials despite these tumultuous times. The Council has discussed it and we have decided to assign you to Master Skywalker.”

Ahsoka stared at him for a moment, in disbelief. _Master Skywalker!_ Ahsoka did her best to tamp down her excitement. _She had been chosen!_

She’d known better than to hope that she would be given to Master Koon— founders never trained the younglings that they discovered— but to be assigned to a Knight as young as Skywalker was a rarity.

She tamped down her excitement as she saw the serious expression on Windu’s face. “For your first mission, we need you to fetch Masters Skywalker and Kenobi from their operation on Christophsis. Their comms have gone dead and we need them back on Coruscant for negotiations.”

Ahsoka blinked and the words tumbled out of her before she could stop them. “Alone? That’s abs— unheard of for Padawans,” she caught herself before she called three of the most senior members of the Jedi Council _absurd_.

“It is unavoidable, ‘Soka. War has stretched us thin and they are the only ones we can spare,” Plo said as gently as his voice could sound though his mask. A bit bitterly, Ahsoka thought that clearly she was sparable as well. She immediately chided herself for the thought— hadn’t she been itching to get out into the field?

Well, she’d still thought she would be able to partake in the traditional night ritual of meditative bonding between Master and Padawan that solidified their bond. 

Master Windu continued, “we’re facing rather . . . unstable relations with the Hutts and Master Skywalker is one of the few Jedi fluent in Huttese. Considering the circumstances, though it’s not optimal, it would be best if one with his background with the Hutts.” Windu’s expression darkened. “At least Kenobi will be there to reign him in,” he added under his breath. Ahsoka had the feeling she wasn’t supposed to have heard that. Her interest was piqued.

“Er, does Master Skywalker have a bad history with the Hutts, Master?” Ahsoka couldn’t help the question from coming out.

The Masters seemed to grimace as a whole. But they looked to Windu— Ahsoka supposed he would know, being Skywalker’s Master.

Windu sighed and rubbed his chin. He merely shook his head. “That’s for Skywalker to tell you, Padawan.” Silently, he looked at her, dismissing her.

“The shuttle should be prepared for you already. You’ll join the fleet over Christophsis and arrangements will be made from there. It’s vital that you inform them that your mission is per the Jedi Council,” Master Luminara said.

Ahsoka nodded and bowed. “Thank you, Masters.” As she turned around, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of their stares on her. She couldn’t help but continue to think about her new Master. _After all, was there anyone who had a good history with the Hutts?_

* * *

_Aargonar. One month after Geonosis._

The Jedi took their oath to be the protectors of the peace seriously, and it was with heavier hearts they broke that oath and uptook positions of command.

Despite earning his knightship, Anakin was assigned to working with another young Jedi Knight, A’Sharad Hett. He’d never crossed paths with the man before, but Anakin did know that he had already been given his first Padawan.

That, and apparently he was a Tusken, by his name.

Anakin clenched his fists, staring out into the empty hyperspace that flooded before him.

_A Tusken._

Whenever he closed his eyes, he was taken back to Tatooine. To the settlement and Shmi’s broken body. Doing things had helped him— fiddling with scraps, fixing the mechanics that were just slightly off on the ship— they distracted him from the thoughts. But it was impossible to ignore them when he was right beside one of the very people who— 

Master Kluub had warned him he had to go through his grief, lest it consume him. He’d reacted well enough in the moment— enough to fool the Council into believing his farce of well adjustment. But Master Windu had seen through his sleeplessness. He had told Anakin that he too had Force visions, yet they took a different form than those received by Yoda.

_I’m able to sense disturbances in the Force, clearer than other Jedi, near moments of conflict— where one choice can drastically change what unfolds_ , Windu had told him. _And you, my Padawan, are surrounded by these disturbances._ And so Windu encouraged Anakin to speak with the Grand Master.

Yoda too had seen the shadows that seemed to follow him and had warned him to heed his dreams.

 _How do you deal with it? The immensity of it?_ Anakin asked Yoda when they meditated together, before the war had worsened and the Grand Master left for the Outer Rim.

 _Reach out_ , Yoda had instructed him. _In your dream, if conflicted you are. Reach to the roots you must, down to the smallest life form. Feel them. Breathe with them. Ground you they will, here._ And with a small, gnarled hand, Yoda had pressed firmly over Anakin’s heart.

 _Responsibility have we to others. Seers we are_ , Yoda’s words rung in his mind.

Before Anakin could ponder his thoughts longer, the barren landscape of Aargonar stretched before him. Sandy dunes and rocky structures stretched before him. It seemed like he was haunted by desert planets.

Anakin had psyched himself up to be cordial to Hett— if things went well, the offensive would go smoothly and they’d be out after a few weeks. Then they’d probably never be assigned together again. This thought was shattered the moment they met.

Hett was a large figure, slightly shorter than Anakin. But the most distinctive thing about him was the unmistakable mask he wore. Anakin had to stop his instinctive reaction to draw his lightsaber at the visage of a Tusken Raider. His voice was low, a slight softening accent that hinted at Basic not being his first language. It was further roughened by the speech filter designed to clear away sand and debris in his mask— nothing would let Anakin forget the feature.

After Shmi’s death, he’d felt numb. Obi-Wan and Padmé had helped, bringing him back. But swallowed everything down under the appearance of calm had only made the quiet animosity against the Tuskens grow. He was still glad he had not sullied his mother’s burial with bloodshed, but it was harder to rid himself of the lingering paranoia that they could not be trusted. 

And it was that feeling that rose in his throat at the sight of Hett.

The first thing Hett had told Anakin that wasn’t related to the front was: “you have a slave’s name.” Somehow, this didn’t help Anakin’s impression toward him.

He’d immediately bristled, knowing full well that Hett likely _did_ know of the Skywalker line. _Born into slavery._ Instead of responding, he’d stared at the Tusken, scowling, silently contemplating borrowing Rex’s blaster and blaming the rest on a particularly talented battle droid. The Tusken mask seemed to stare back at him, unfeeling. Behind it, Hett’s mind was sealed from him.

But he continued. “In our stories, the suns were slaves, forced to work as our people were. But one day, they, the Sky Brothers, escaped. Though in the process, the younger brother betrayed the older one, and so now they chase each other in the sky. Some of us, we call them the Skywalkers. You have the name of the man who was in chains and now is free,” Hett said quietly.

Anakin stared at him, unsure of how to proceed. After his last visit on Tatooine, he could safely say that if he never saw a single sand person again in his life it would be too many.

Finally, he turned away from Hett, frowning. “I’m not a slave any more,” he said tersely, more to the wind. Lifting his wrist commlink, he activated it. “Rex— bring the troopers out. We’ll start the offensive now.”

* * *

As the shuttle lowered from the command cruiser, Ahsoka felt the anxiety in her stomach flutter. They lowered through the atmosphere and she was more aware than ever of the stray blaster fire shooting around them. The clone pilot steering the shuttle smoothly made a maneuver clearly well-practiced, yet somehow Ahsoka wasn’t put at ease. 

It finally stuck her standing in that shuttle, Admiral Yularen beside her, that they were in an active warzone. She was only fourteen years old.

Without reprieve, Ahsoka felt the transport come to a shuddering landing and the landing hatch opened. It was more instinct than conscious intent that brought her forward. _The Force is with me_ , she repeated to herself, lightsaber a comforting weight on her belt.

Scattered troopers filled her sight, spread throughout the slightly smoking remains of a skirmish. And before her two men stood, a slightly taller one with brown hair and a scar over his eye on the left and a man with a dirty blond mop of hair and beard. Both were covered with the grime of battle and stared at her with somewhat perplexed looks.

The man on the right spoke first, his Coruscanti accent immediately clear to Ahsoka. “A youngling?” He sounded at a loss.

The other paused, looking her over, catching on her saber. His brow furrowed. “A Padawan.”

Ahsoka figured that was as good an entry as she was going to get. She stepped forward, silently wishing she was just a _bit_ taller. It was always hard to be taken seriously when you were being stared down your montrals. She straightened herself up and tried to sound as official as she could.

“My name is Ahsoka. Master Yoda sent to tell both of you that you must get back to the Jedi Temple immediately. There’s an emergency,” she said.

The scarred man snorted. “Not sure if anyone’s noticed, but we have a bit of an emergency here.”

The other man shot him a chiding look. “ _A_ _nakin_. We’ve been trying to contact the Council for backup for a while now.” So the man must be Master Kenobi, Ahsoka deducted. Which made the other— _Anakin_ — Master Skywalker. _Her_ Master. 

It was strange how people looked different up close than afar. Though Anakin had only recently been Knighted, just a few months older than some of the senior Padawans Ahsoka, there was a different weight to his presence. She squared her shoulders, trying to match him.

“Master Yoda hadn’t heard from you so he sent me to deliver the message,” Ahsoka said. A bit of worry nudged at her. Clearly, they had their hands full— what if they didn’t want her? What if they sent her back? No— she’d been _found_ — she was wanted, Ahsoka reminded herself. Told herself.

Master Skywalker huffed. 

Ahsoka pondered the problem. “Maybe you could send a message through the cruiser I just arrived in?”

Master Kenobi rubbed his beard in contemplation. “That could work. Quickly,” he nodded to the ship.

Thankfully, the cruiser’s transmissions still worked and they routed them to the Jedi Temple. Ahsoka smiled at the sight of Master Yoda, the old Grand Master always a comforting sight. But all of their faces were pinched with furrowed brows.

“Master Yoda, we’re trapped here and outnumbered. We are in no position to go anywhere or do anything,” Kenobi said tersely.

“Send reinforcements we will,” Yoda bowed his head. Suddenly, his image shook and disappeared in a burst of static, a clone trooper replaced him.

“We’ve lost the signal— we’re under heavy fire. We’ll have to evacuate from low orbit but we’ll return as soon as possible, Generals,” he spoke briskly. His own holoprojection quivered and the sound of blaster cannons was heard. A moment later and it flickered out.

Skywalker frowned. “We’ll have to manage a while longer without them, then.”

Kenobi nodded. Turning toward Ahsoka, he said, “my apologies, young one. It’s time you’ve properly introduced yourself.”

“I’m Ahsoka Tano— the new Padawan learner,” Ahsoka said. At their equal looks of confusion, she continued, “I’ve been assigned to Master Skywalker.”

“Whoa, whoa— what?” Skywalker held out his hands as if to ward her off. “There must be a mistake. I was just knighted— I can hardly take care of myself, much less a kid, Windu _knows_ that,” he exchanged another glance with Kenobi.

Ahsoka frowned, her doubts from before gone. After all— hadn’t she helped them make contact with the Council in the first place? Screw if they didn’t want her— she’d make herself useful! 

She crossed her arms. “Well, my assignment came from Master Yoda. He was _very_ clear about it. I’ve been assigned to Anakin Skywalker and he is to supervise my training.”

Skywalker scowled, though it didn’t seem aimed at her. “ _Agh_ — that old geezer is probably laughing right about now at me. This makes no sense.”

Kenobi pinched his brow. “Well, we’ll have to figure this out later. Our cannons won’t hold the droids off forever.”

Skywalker grimaced. “You’re right. I’ll check on Rex at the outpost.”

“Ah, you’d better take your Padawan with you,” Kenobi reminded him. There seemed to be amusement in his voice.

He frowned and gestured to Ahsoka. “She’s not my Padawan,” Skywalker muttered. If anything, he was the one who sounded like a petulant youngling.

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows. “Face it, you’re stuck with me.” She grinned at her own joke, “ _Skyguy_.”

Skywalker whipped around faster than she thought possible. There also might’ve been muffled laughter behind her. “What did you— don’t get snippy with me, little one. Come _on_.” His tone was warning, yet not as demanding as she would’ve thought.

He turned back around, shoulders tense, and Ahsoka cautiously followed.

* * *

At first, the military operation on Aargonar was stop-and-go. Both the Republic and Confederacy had fairly haphazardly-thrown together command bases on-world and small battles broke out across the middle no-man’s land. It was riddled with mines and other traps, all buried beneath the sand.

But when there was a breather in the battle, Anakin liked going into the command tent— the farthest he could get from all the sand and general scenery of the planet— and pulled out the piece of japor tree he carried with him. He hadn’t had the chance to carve it before everything had happened— he’d grabbed the piece more through instinct than intentionally on Tatooine.

Pulling out his military-issue knife, Anakin closed his eyes and touched it to the wood. It seemed to hum at his contact, pleased. He made a cut.

Anakin had never realized how spiritual the process of carving a japor snippet was. But every time he had carved one on Tatooine, hidden away in a corner in the slaves’ corridors, he’d opened himself to the Force, letting it guide his designs.

Today, the Force was kind in its guidance. It whispered of the desert and warm mugs of chai. But sometimes kindness was worse. Anakin opened his eyes and wrenched his knife away. _The mother’s protection_. But he didn’t want to think about either— about Tatooine or—

_Ani._

He froze. “Mom?”

Only silence returned and he felt foolish for having entertained the thought. The winds of the desert always had the habit of sounding like laughing spirits— no one from a desert planet would follow them.

But still, he reached out in the Force. After all, was it not possible that Shmi had been somewhat Force-sensitive? She had given birth to him.

“Mom— are you there?”

_Ani, I’m tired._

It _was_ Shmi. It was the weary, patient voice she’d used on him as a child, when he would leap after her after a long day of work. It hadn’t happened as much when he got older and was tasked with more strenuous work in the shop. Then, both mother and son would collapse at the end of the work day, Shmi doing her best to cook a meal for them.

Anakin held onto the presence he felt. It was warm, gentle— _mom_. Held her to him in the Force.

“What can I do to help? _Let me help you_ ,” he pleaded. _I’m sorry I couldn’t help you before._

_Ani_ . . . The faintest touch of calloused hands on his face. Thin fingers worn by intense work. He closed his eyes at the comfort.

_Ani, you need to let me go._

“I don’t know how to. I don’t want to,” Anakin whispered to the tent. _And beneath that?_ he could hear Master Kluub chiding him. “I’m _scared_ to let you go.” Because then he would only be left with that gnawing, growing 

_Ani, I will always be with you. I will always love you. You must forgive._

There was no death, only the Force.

Anakin took a shuddering breath. Closed his eyes, felt the desert roaring outside of the tent. The land was alive, as alive as it moved, constantly shifting. Shmi’s body had been put to rest but her spirit . . . . He cradled his hands and in the Force he could see the faintest flicker of something. Perhaps it was a soul, something else. But whatever it was, he had to let her go.

Let go of the anger, the fear.

Forgive himself for what happened.

They were always going to lose people. It seemed like Anakin had done a pretty good job of acquiring people who he _could_ lose— Obi-Wan, Master Windu, Tru— hell, even Rex and all the clones he served beside.

 _Clear are your eyes. Untethered, you are,_ Master Yoda’s words echoed to him.

He looked to the tent flap, as though he could see through it to their troops outside. To where Hett trained his Kajain’sa’Nikto Padawan, Bhat Jul, in the sands.

Somewhere inside, he knew he had to forgive them too, though they had done nothing against him, personally. The thought didn’t settle well with him.

“Be at peace,” Anakin commanded. In the Force, he relinquished her. A displeased quality had taken over her aura. _Ani_ . . . she warned.

“ _Be at peace,_ ” he repeated, angrily. He could do this for her. She could not ask him to do _that_.

Anakin withdrew himself from the Force and the comforting feeling of warmth left him, leaving him only with the normal dry heat of the desert. He stood. He would heal in his own time.

The knife and half-finished japor snippet lay forgotten on his cot.

Ahsoka watched the clones with intrigue.

She’d never been so close to the infamous clone troopers before, aside from the patriotic ads that occasionally played on the holoscreens in Coruscant. Most of them had their helmets on and were indistinguishable. Underneath their helmets, the clones all had similar— well, identical— features, though some had distinguishing haircuts or tattoos. It was disconcerting to see identical brows furrowed in concentration, the same voices calling out to each other.

Ahsoka shook herself and realized she’d fallen behind Master Skywalker. She sped up slightly to catch up— she didn’t need him thinking she was more of a kid than she already was, gawking at unfamiliar sights. They arrived at the lookout post.

Skywalker sighed slightly to himself before he approached one clone with a buzzed, bleached haircut. Ahsoka could feel his gaze on her and pointedly ignored it, turning it to the clone— the captain by his insignia. The clone straightened up at Skywalker's appearance, nodding with a practised familiarity.

“What’s the status, Rex?” Skywalker asked.

“Quiet for now, sir. They’re gearing up for another assault,” the clone— Rex— said. It was clear from even that quick exchange, they _knew_ each other. There was a trust there. Ahsoka looked out from the outpost, out at the burning wreckage of the city.

“Who’s the youngling?” Ahsoka’s montrals perked up at the question. She turned around, facing Rex. They appraised each other.

“I’m Master Skywalker’s Padawan. Ahsoka Tano,” she introduced herself. She glanced to Skywalker, who looked increasingly disgruntled.

Rex looked over to Skywalker, a slightly amused expression on his face. “Sir, I thought you said you’d never have a Padawan.”

“There’s been a mix-up. The youngling isn’t with me,” Skywalker frowned. For a moment, Ahsoka could almost convince herself it wasn’t that he despised her and was really a mix up.

But she scowled nonetheless. “Stop calling me that. We’re a pair now, Skyguy— Master and Padawan, and you’re _not_ getting rid of me,” she said, putting on her fiercest expression.

Clearly, it didn’t work because Skywalker’s expression only darkened and Rex’s was the second to burst into laughter around her. He raised an armored hand, trying to disguise it and failing miserably.

“Once was enough— you should watch your tongue, little one,” Skywalker shot back. He loomed over her. “You’re not even old enough to be a Padawan.”

Ahsoka felt her face flush with indignation. She always was too much— too loud for the other kids, too reckless for the other initiates. Yet too much and not enough at the same time. Ahsoka knew she’d been getting ready, preparing like all the others. But there had been whispers around the Temple that the initiates had been rushed because war was looming.

 _Well now here it is and here I am_. But Ahsoka couldn’t let herself think about that or else she might start believing it. And if she started doubting herself the fear would be too much.

“Maybe you’re right, but Master Yoda thinks I am and so do the Trials,” Ahsoka said, raising her chin defiantly.

Skywalker merely looked at her, nearly grimacing. “Well, you’re not with Master Yoda now. You’re with me— so if you’re ready, you need to prove it. Otherwise you’ll end up in a body bag.” Contrary to his words, his expression sobered. Ahsoka had the feeling that, while perhaps he’d yet to warm to her, Skywalker genuinely didn’t want to see her a part of the body count.

Sighing, he eased up on the intimidation factor. “Look— I genuinely don’t know how you ended up here, little one. Neither Obi-Wan or I put in a request for a Padawan and it would be better if you went to a Master who was ready for you.” He gestured. “Now go with Rex— he’ll show you our current formations. Then, we’ll sort this out.”

Ahsoka decided it wasn’t worth it to remind him that comms still weren’t working. Instead, she bowed her head, “yes, Master.” His brow furrowed but Ahsoka turned away, pretending she hadn’t seen it. Even if he didn’t acknowledge it, she could imagine for a moment that their bond was real.

Rex dipped his head at her in a brusque manner. “Right, kid. Come along then.”

Ahsoka followed him and descended down from the lookout. A trooper approached them, his helmet on. “Hey— Rex, what’s with the kid?” Ahsoka blinked, still unused to hearing the same voices come from different people.

Captain Rex merely smirked. “Haven’t you been listening, Jesse? She’s General Skywalker’s Padawan,” Rex said.

Ahsoka brightened slightly. Well, at least someone accepted her. She had a feeling she was going to like this Rex.

* * *

Naturally, it was just Anakin’s luck to be trapped in one of the hidden caves on _with_ the Tusken. With his fortune, the situation also included an abandoned, broken down fighter, a sandstorm, and being cut off from the rest of their troops and Bhat Jul. If a little blunt, the Padawan had a kindly disposition that had largely been the way Anakin had coped with communicating to Hett.

Anakin grit his teeth at the sandy wiring that faced him. Damn desert planets and all their inhabitants. The fighter was their only chance at returning to the main army in a timely manner and to be of use.

“Well, how does it look, Skywalker? Will it fly?” Hett asked from behind him.

Anakin frowned. “I could get it to work, but the power cells are shot. They’re no good.”

Hett hummed, an infuriatingly melodic sound. “Would the power cells of a lightsaber work?”

“Yeah, maybe. But it’d take at least two and would suck them dry— we’d be weaponless,” Anakin said, irately. 

Even if they each gave up a lightsaber— Anakin could offer up the crystal of the beskar saber Master Windu had gifted him for his 13th life-day— they’d be left with only Anakin having a weapon— not the optimal situation in a warzone. His fingers hesitated on the hilt, the saber always seeming to resonate the calm presence of Windu. As superstitious as it was, it felt a bit like a good luck charm, the same as Obi-Wan’s riverstone.

Hett considered his words, then pulled out another saber. Its hilt was worn, old etchings carved into it. “I have my father’s lightsaber as well. Will these serve your purpose?” He offered them down to Anakin, his own lightsaber’s tassel of beads clinking softly. Anakin stared at them for a moment, unsure of how to react.

“Your father was a Jedi as well?” He couldn’t help the disbelief from slipping into his voice.

Hett stilled. “Why is it of such surprise to you, Skywalker? Because we are Tuskens? Don’t act as though I couldn’t have noticed the clear prejudice you hold for my people.”

Anakin put down his hands, clenching them. He took a deep breath but calm wouldn’t find him— he was surrounded by too much damn sand.

“Fine. Maybe I have something against Tuskens. After all— _your_ people killed my mother.”

Hett paused a moment, waiting if he would continue. “And your people— humans, Jedi— are slaughtering millions. It is wrong to assume that all of one kind are the same, no? Even if you were to justify yourself— the droids, maybe, lack souls— but the living creatures that fight on the separatists’ side?” He held up his father’s lightsaber. It seemed to carry a new weight with it.

“My father was killed by Aurra Sing before me. Afterwar, as I carried my father’s saber, I felt consumed by a need for revenge. I wanted to make her feel the agony I felt. But my Master warned me of what comes of succumbing to that darkness.” His head tilted. “You and me . . . we aren’t so different, hm? What lives in the desert . . .”

“Never leaves the desert,” Anakin finished the proverb, quietly. 

“There’s a saying similar in Tusken, though it ties people to the sands and winds, us being a migratory people. But the meaning is the same,” Hett said. He offered his lightsabers up again. “Take them. Your sabers are precious to you in their forging— I will not ask that of you. My lightsabers are precious in their memory. I will fashion my own weapon.”

Silently, Anakin took the blades, nodding slowly. He didn’t need to ask to know how precious these were to Hett, regardless of what he said. Well, Anakin could never accuse him of lacking dedication to the cause.

Anakin frowned. “Not all droids are like the Separatists’. Those are bound to their protocols,” he argued. He considered the thought— the droids he had created always had a certain spark of individuality to them. He’d attributed it to his own style of open-ended programming. But perhaps all of them had the potential for such self-determination. It was imaginable.

“They’re no more than slaves,” Anakin murmured to himself. They destroyed the seperatist droids out of necessity— if it wasn’t the droids, it would be them or innocents. But it didn’t make the losses easier.

But rather than bristling at Anakin’s comment, Hett hummed in agreement. “You are not the Jedi I expected you would be, Anakin Skywalker.”

Anakin merely turned away, focusing on the sabers before him.

The crystals could be volatile, especially in a confined desert cave. But it was more than that basic caution that caused him to take his finer adjustment tool out of his belt pouch to uncover the kyber crystals. Jedi weapons were sacred and even Hett being a Tusken wouldn’t remove from that. That and, deep in him, a grudging amount of respect was beginning to bud. No matter what Hett said, these were precious heirlooms as well.

* * *

Ahsoka and Rex had rejoined Masters Skywalker and Kenobi. They looked no less pleased than before, but this time it was thanks to the quickly approaching Separatist line of tanks. 

“We could potentially draw them into closer fighting quarters— into the buildings. It would make it easier for the troops,” Kenobi offered. Their attention was drawn to the looming red shield that covered the 

Ahsoka looked over the glowing holomap, brow furrowed. “If the shield is such a problem, why don’t we just take it out?” She figured between three Jedi— or two and a half— it would be a manageable task.

There was silence for a moment, then Rex frowned. “That’s easier said than done.”

To Ahsoka’s surprise, it was Skywalker who spoke up. “That’s not a bad idea. I agree with her— someone has to get to that shield generator and destroy it.”

“Right then. Perhaps the two of you can slip behind the enemy’s line and solve this problem together,” Kenobi offered.

“We can do that, Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka said quickly. She immediately saw Skywalker bristle, but she kept his disgruntled stare. They were a pair now— she’d keep saying it until it was true. After all, even if Skywalker didn’t want to take her on, there was something about him. Ahsoka had thought it had merely been his physical presence and height, but the feeling hadn’t faded. In the Force, Master Skywalker was _luminous_.

A being so bright couldn’t be wrong— not when Ahsoka felt something was drawing them together.

And she knew what it was to be with the wrong person. As a child, she had cried when found. Not for leaving her family— as a child, she’d had no understanding of how long she would be gone for— but because the kind-faced stranger who had come for her felt _foul_ in the Force. Ahsoka hadn’t realized what had precisely been so wrong until she’d understood precisely what Master Koon had rescued her from. _Slavery_ — 

Skywalker’s grudging agreement shook Ahsoka from her thoughts. “We’ll do it.”

Ahsoka stared at him in surprise. Well then. Right— now was no time to be thinking of before.

Kenobi nodded. “If Rex and I can engage them here,” he gestured at a glowing spot on the holomap, “the two of you will have an opportunity to slip through their lines undetected, here.”

“They won’t have much time. The droids far outnumber us,” Rex warned. “Our ability to street fight is limited without the use of heavy cannons. Their shield will allow them to approach until they can blow us away.”

Ahsoka watched the projected front of the droid army ominously advance. If she stopped to think, she might realize how scared she was. But it was fine— her Master and she wouldn’t even be engaging with the main force directly if the plan went well. Not giving herself time to doubt it all, she turned to Skywalker. “We’ll figure out a way. Come on, Master, let’s go.” She tried to project confidence as she strolled away, hoping he would follow.

She heard him walk after her, hearing his already-familiar sigh. “If we survive this, Snips, you and I are going to have a talk,” Skywalker warned.

Ahsoka wasn’t sure if she should frown or smugly take this as an admission. “Snips?” 

Skywalker merely stared at her dryly and then continued onward. “Come on, don’t fall behind,” he called.

Once his back was turned, Ahsoka grinned to herself. Yeah, she was growing on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note- a lot of the dialogue comes from the clone wars movie. a'sharad hett is from the republic comics and his character is super cool! go redemption for everyone!! (reminding myself that this is technically a fix-it).
> 
> also, huge thanks to the sw new canon discord for letting me babble about ideas & writing! y'all are amazing!


	7. VII: BUIR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the battle on Aagonar finishes with a surprising conclusion and Anakin struggles to find acceptance for everything that has happened. Months later, Ahsoka finishes her first battle alongside her new Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir - [Mando'a] mother
> 
> Welcome to the continuation of the last chapter!

The fighter rumbled to life beneath Anakn’s hands. He grinned— nothing could stay broken for long under his care. The crystals had fit easily into the system with some wiring and, thankfully, the rest of the fighter hadn’t been in shabby condition despite crashing. Anakin had finally managed to relax a touch working on the electrical work.

“Master,” he called. “It’s operational. And here.” He offered back the hilts of Hett’s sabers. He took them, touch gentle, and placed them back on his belt.

“Thank you,” Hett said softly. It was hard to read his emotion with the Tusken mask in place, though Anakin was surprised to find less of the anger welled up at the sight of it. Perhaps he had relaxed more than he had realized, working on the ship and mulling over Hett’s words.

“Well done, Skywalker,” Hett commended him. On his back he had strapped on a make-shift, metal gaderffii stick. “We ought to move quickly— our forces were in a bad position last time.”

They entered the dusty cockpit, Anakin taking the pilot-seat and Hett the back-facing gunner position. 

“Right, let’s move then,” Anakin said. The fighter hummed to life and rose. Anakin was careful to mind the relatively low ceiling and headed through the cave tunnel they had entered through. He felt Hett’s alarm faintly through the Force.

“Skywalker— it might be prudent to  _ slow down _ . Is it really best to go though these tunnels?” Hett huffed, the filter in his mask not covering the exasperation in his voice.

“Sorry, Master— this is the quickest way to return to our troops,” Anakin grinned, not very apologetic. Even if he had— the slightest amount of!— respect for Hett, it was always fun to pull the leg of other Masters. Force, he missed going on missions with Windu.

Sand whirled over the fighter’s view, blown up by the engines. Anakin could hardly see the tunnel walls and he reached out in the Force, his hold on the controls as light and agile as ever. It was no different than running beggar’s canyon on a speeder.

The fighter rumbled as Anakin pushed the throttle as the tunnel sloped upwards and distantly, he heard Hett’s cry of “ _ careful! _ ”

Then as darkness submerged around them, just as quickly the fighter hit the thin layer of sand that had accumulated from the sandstorm and burst through. The plume of sand surrounding them settled and Anakin instinctively flew an evasive maneuver as blaster fire materialized around them. “The  _ guns! _ ” Anakin called back.

“I am aware!” Hett shouted in response, swiftly shooting at the dots of droids and the hulking figures of the yuzzem on the desert ground. Thankfully this troop lacked air support, but the Separatists still had heavy cannons and anti-aircraft weapons.

Anakin brought the fighter in closer, shooting with the front-facing guns. Their Republic troops were being surrounded and slowly overwhelmed by the battle droids, though Anakin glimpsed multiple lightsabers on the ground— there must’ve been reinforcements.

Unfortunately even Anakin’s flying couldn’t have saved them from the direct blast from a cannon. It hit the underbelly of the fighter, which shuddered and smoke rose from the engine. Anakin grunted, pulling against the resistance in the controls. “We’re going down, Master!”  _ Shit. _

He lost control of the ship and their descent quickly sped up, landing roughly in a dune of sand. Anakin felt himself get thrown from the crash, the impact rattling his frame. He groaned— he was gonna feel that tomorrow.

“ . . . Hett?” Anakin groaned. He looked up, blinking sand out of his eyes.

He barely had time to roll out of the way before a yuzzem slammed its staff into the sand beside him. The furry, humanoid creature bore a heavy collar around its neck— the obedience collar of a slave. But Anakin hardly had time to mourn the condition of his opponent before more approached. As much as the yuzzem despised the Separatists, they feared the punishment of their collars more.

There was a blur of movement and then Anakin saw Hett leap up and kick away two other yuzzem who had approached. Their furry maws were bared in anger. His gaffi stick was deadly in its aim. In battle, there was little thought of morality— only survival.

“Master Skywalker! You need to get up!” A light voice called. It was Bhat Jul. his lightsaber shone as he deflected blasts and with his other hand he helped Anakin up.

“Thanks. And where have you been?” Anakin asked leaping into the fray.

“Master Ki-Adi and Knight Swan arrived with reinforcements. We’re still pressed in an unfortunate position though,” Bhat Jul told him. They ended up nearly back to back, fighting in a rush. In the distance, Anakin could see Hett moving with a practiced grace through the battle. There was all the power of a Tusken defending his clan and familiarity with the sandy terrain. The droids never stood a chance.

So focused on his own sphere and distracted by Hett, Anakin didn’t notice the disturbance in the Force, beneath their feet. 

Perhaps it was fortune that placed Anakin outside the mine’s blast radius.

It hadn’t felt like fortune when Bhat Jul was the one to be hit instead.

The Padawan’s body ragdolled, collapsing a distance away from the impact. Anakin knew by the broken way Bhat Jul’s chest seemed to cave as he drew in a pained breath that he would not survive without a miracle. And the desert was not in the habit of providing those. 

Anakin rushed forward, kneeling before Bhat Jul. His hands felt unusually shaky as they reached out to touch him, to staunch the bleeding wound—  _ which one? There was too much blood. _

Even as Anakin cautiously felt around his body with the Force, despair welled up as he realized the injuries were far too many to count. He had been too close to the blast center. 

“Bhat Jul— come on, focus with me. We can do this,” Anakin encouraged, trying to pull upon his meager Force abilities in healing—  _ fuck _ , why had he not paid more attention to the guest lectures at the Temple? Bhat Jul’s brown eyes were glazed over, unseeing. Only the slightest quiver indicated he was still conscious, grasping onto his last strength. 

Hett drove off the last of the yuzzem in the area and joined them. Even his normally stoically calm presence in the Force wavered.

“Master—  _ A’Sharad _ . He needs medical help urgently— if we combine our powers we should be able to stabilize him—”

“Leave him, Skywalker,” A’Sharad said quietly. So quietly, Anakin thought he’d misheard him. “Anakin.”

“ _ No _ — we’ll place him in a healing trance. It’ll slow down his body’s metabolism enough for us to get him to a bacta tank,” Anakin demanded. He lifted his hands to rest gently on Bhat Jul’s chest, where the most damage lay. There was internal bleeding— but there was nothing Anakin could do about that at the moment. Part of him recoiled— there was nothing he could do— 

_ Down to the smallest life form. Feel them. Breathe with them. Ground you they will. _

But there was a stronger instinct, deep in his roots, that said  _ stay _ .

Anakin slowed his breathing and felt Bhat Jul’s chest slow with his, synchronizing.  _ First, the lungs _ . In the brief vacuum created by the blast, he had sucked in too much sand— tiny particles tearing at his lung tissue. Anakin reached out in the Force and felt for the damage—  _ to the smallest life form _ . Down to the very cells of Bhat Jul’s body, Anakin imbued them with energy.  _ Heal _ , he told them.

Distantly, Anakin felt someone kneel beside him. It was A’Sharad.

“Very well then,” he said heavily. “Let us combine our abilities.”

A’Sharad had greater finesse and his touch in the Force was as sure as his movements in battle. Anakin was almost unsure where his enemies’ blood ended and Bhat Jul’s began on A’Sharad’s robes. With his help, their patchwork job went faster and Bhat Jul’s breathing steadied. 

He straightened, a General once more. “We have been surrounded— we  _ must _ return to our base if we wish to save our living troops,” A’Sharad said. “I will take my Padawan.”

Gently, A’Sharad knelt and picked up Bhat Jul. With that, Anakin and he propelled themselves with the Force toward the temporary Republic base.

“Come— we retreat now!” he called to the troopers still fighting. They ran toward them, Anakin leaping forward to deflect following blaster fire. His limbs screamed with fatigue after fighting for hours and he concentrated on drawing from the Force to guide his movements. There was not much to fuel the living Force in a desert, but it was enough to keep his blocks steady.

Finally, they returned to the encampment. The men separated to clean their weapons and take care of equipment maintenance. Master Ki-Adi’s forces were still on the way back, retreating. Anakin frowned— today’s encounter had not been a good one. They lost too many— the Separatists forces were too much.

A’Sharad dipped into the medical tent with Bhat Jul. Anakin followed him. While Bhat Jul’s Force presence had subsided in the healing trance, it was still there— steadily shining.

The medics rushed forward as soon as they saw them.

“We have limited resources, but we should have a small bacta tank that could fit him,” he said. Quickly, they moved to take the broken form of the Padawan, dressing his wounds with practiced efficiency.

The expression on A’Sharad’s face was unreadable, the dim lighting of the tent reflecting off of his dark goggles. Suddenly, he turned to Anakin.

“Skywalker— Anakin,” he seemed to correct himself. “You continue to break expectations. Thank you for saving my Padawan.”

Anakin was unsure of how to take the compliment. He frowned. “You imply that you were going to leave him.”

A’Sharad nodded, unhesitating. “It is the way of the desert.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as Bhat Jul was slowly lowered into the tank of bacta, the machinery beeping as it registered his vitals. He looked smaller, stripped of everything but bandages for his wounds and decency. Bhat Jul ws tucked into himself, floating in the liquid with a weightless air.

“In different circumstances, you would have made a good Tusken I think. Your inability to let go is something that would kill you, but your sense of loyalty perhaps would save you,” A'Sharad observed, blunt and honest.

Anakin flinched. But the words were well meaning and A’Sharad was not one to taunt.

Perhaps, if A’Sharad had told him those words at the beginning of their campaign, Anakin would’ve scoffed— thrown off his words as an insult. But there was respect in it, in a way only another desert dweller could understand.  _ You are one of us _ , his words said.

Anakin watched Bhat Jul, his vitals stabilizing. His thoughts drifted to worse injuries on another desert planet.

_ Mom. _

If only Obi-Wan had arrived sooner, perhaps together they could have saved her— 

But in his gut, Anakin knew the hope was false. There were no proper medics for miles on Tatooine, much less technology as advanced as bacta tanks. Shmi had not been a Jedi, hardened by disciplined training. She had been his mother.

_ And now she is gone _ .

Anakin looked out the tent, at the men scattered around. Some were cleaning their blasters, others grabbing a quick bite of rations.

They were not yet gone.

Anakin dipped his head politely. “Thank you.” He looked at A’Sharad slowly. 

“I think I have a way of dealing with the droid army,” Anakin said. “Can you get me behind their lines to their command center?”

* * *

They stood on a balcony of one of the abandoned buildings, looking down at the closely approaching shield.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ahsoka skipped up to Master Skywalker, who was looking intently through electrobinoculars. 

He looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “I thought you were the one with the plan?”

She adjusted the straps of the military pack she carried, full of explosives. “No, I’m the one with the enthusiasm— and thermal detonators.” She grinned. “And you’re the one with the experience, which I’m looking forward to learning from.”

Skywalker looked back at her and Ahsoka swore she saw the slightest smile on his face. It was quickly smothered. “Well, first we need to get behind that shield and their tank lines.”

Ahsoka peered over the ledge. “Why don’t we outflank them— avoid them altogether?”

He shook his head. “That’ll be too slow— Obi-Wan and the troops need that shield disabled fast.”

“Then why not straight through them?” Ahsoka suggested. At Skywalker’s exasperated expression she groaned. “Okay! Dumb idea— sorry, Master. What’s  _ your  _ brilliant idea?”

Skywalker looked at the line of approaching droids intently. “Well . . . maybe it wasn’t the dumbest. Come on— I have an idea.”

They leaped down from the balcony, cushioning their landing with a small Force push, and Skywalker immediately ran toward rubble— and the approaching droid army.

“What are you doing?” Ahsoka hissed— not precisely sure how accurate the audio-receivers on the droids were. 

“Get in!” Skywalker whispered back, gesturing to an overturned transportation cart that had been abandoned on the side of the main street. It was Ahsoka’s turn to lift her brows in doubt. Skywalker stared at her insistently, gesturing. And  _ she _ was the mouthy Padawan with bad ideas!

“Are you sure this will work?” Ahsoka whispered. Even if her sensitive lekku weren’t touching the ground, she would’ve been able to feel the heavy vibrations of mechanical feet stomping the ground, quickly approaching.

“Yes, now  _ shh _ ,” Skywalker whispered. He held onto the edges of the cart, keeping it securely over them. Soon the droid army was over them, the cart nudged by robotic movements. Thankfully, none of the droids had the thought to attempt to move the cart. After a tense few minutes, the first wave passed.

“Right, let’s move,” Skywalker said. He pushed himself to his forearms and Ahsoka reluctantly followed his lead. Right—  _ her  _ plan was too slow.

Ahsoka peered from underneath the cart. “Can’t we stand? Come on— there’s no one out there.”

Skywalker grunted, grabbing onto the cart, “ _ careful _ —” He grabbed onto the cart to ensure it didn’t fall to the ground loudly.

But Ahsoka was rushing ahead, the glowing pillar of light fueling the shield just before them. There were no droids in sight and the pale-stone platform seemed secure enough. She leaped up.

“Ahsoka—  _ wait _ ,” Skywalker called out, running after her. Ahsoka had nearly reached the shield generator when she felt her foot kick something. She looked down— it was an antenna of sorts. The ground started rumbling, smooth stone cracking away.  _ Crap _ .

Hulking droids burst from the earth, glowing eyes gleaming on large, cylindrical heads. Suddenly, Ahsoka felt quite small and her lightsaber tiny in her hands. Force— was this how she was going to die? Pulverized ungracefully beneath some third-generation metal hunk?

Ahsoka felt a push at her back. Her eyes snapped to Skywalker, who had already leaped to action, his blue lightsaber an arc around him. With his loose robes, he looked like a blur of fabric and glowing blue.

_ Move _ — she heard him in her mind. “Move! Set the charges— I’ll take care of the droids!” He shouted out loud. Ahsoka nodded, forcing herself to move. For a moment, she’d felt frozen again, not out of fear, but awe.

_ That _ was her Master.

Quickly, she slipped her pack from her shoulders and took out the thermal detonators. Ahsoka leaped onto the base of the generator, placing down the explosives. In the background, she heard the sounds of clashing metal, the droids falling before Skywalker.

Something in the Force alerted her though and Ahsoka whipped around in time to dodge around one of the droids who had moved behind her. She whipped her lightsaber up and decapitated it. She hardly had time to feel proud of herself when the cylindrical head immediately rolled off the side of the generator, landing over several more antennae.

Oh no.

The earth rumbled and split before the emerging forms of several more droids. They automatically locked targets onto Skywalker.

“Sorry!” Ahsoka called out, fearing it was a futile gesture. Skywalker spared a moment to glare at her, scowling.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Skywalker shouted, exasperated.

“Sorry! Setting charges,” Ahsoka sighed. At least she was fairly certain Skywalker was in no imminent danger— when he fought, he was more like a deadly blur. She completed placing detonators around the perimeter of the generator and leaped off. 

Ahsoka was surprised to see Skywalker was still fighting the droids, nearly backed against a degraded stone wall. They were closing in. Something about that imagery gnawed at Ahsoka and her heart was racing. She looked at the wall closer.

A stone wall which happened to have a convenient Skywalker-sized hole approximately where he was.

“ _ Skyguy! _ Stay still!” Ahsoka yelled. He looked up at her just as she latched onto the wall with the Force and  _ pulled _ . She only had to start the movement and gravity took care of the rest.

“Wait— no—” Skywalker started and then ducked, his presence volatile in the Force. There was a violent thud but Ahsoka sensed no pain, only the screech of metal being crushed. She looked up, relieved that her plan worked.

Skywalker was staring at her, fuming. Well, she  _ could _ sense anger in the Force.

“You could’ve killed me,” Skywalker said lowly, furious.

It was impressive how easily fear turned to anger. Or irritation. Ahsoka bristled. “I just saved your life!” What else was she to have done? She hadn’t been close enough to be of any use physically. She wasn’t going to stand by and watch her Master get hurt on her first mission.

Skywalker huffed. “Did you at least get the charges set?”

Ahsoka nodded. “Ready when you are,” she snarked defensively.

Skywalker’s eyes glinted. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

Ahsoka scowled and tapped the activator on her wrist command. The generator exploded behind them and the red shield melted down satisfyingly, yet she couldn’t take any joy from it. Their troops would be able to begin the assault on the droid troops who were now fully in their range. She looked hesitantly up at Skywalker. His eyes were dark, an unreadable expression on them.

How could she take satisfaction from this victory when her Master hated her?

* * *

For any other pair, it would’ve been near impossible to fly over the battlefield and identify anything. The sands had shifted from the intense battle and explosives and nothing was recognizable. But A’Sharad and Anakin had grown up in the desert. Interpreting change was their speciality. And there it was— the control center of this droid regiment. 

“What exactly are you doing?” A’Sharad asked over the sound of the engine. This new fighter was notably clunkier and louder than the old one— a surprise considering that the other fighter had been buried in a cave for who knew how long.

“I’m going to reprogram the droids from the command center. Cover me!” Anakin shouted. 

“Wait— Skywalker” A’Sharad hardly had a moment to react before Anakin was exiting from the pilot’s seat. He leapt out of their borrowed fighter and squinted his eyes against the sand whirling up at him. Damn, he really should’ve taken goggles.

But it was a soft and quiet landing from the sand and Anakin rolled to a smooth stop. Thankfully, the Separatists’ base was just as makeshift as the Republic’s, despite their position being more established. Sand did not lend itself well to quick construction, he had to give it that.

Anakin quickly slipped through the droids on guard and found the control room. There were only a few droids milling around and a command droid at the console— most of their forces were likely still in the sands. 

With time, Anakin probably could’ve reprogrammed the command droid— but he didn’t want to risk it. Too many lives were at stake. Staying to the shadows, he approached the console, where the droid was intent upon the information flooding in. It hardly had time to look up at the hum of a lightsaber before it was decapitated.

Its body clanged to the ground and Anakin’s hands were already on the console, disarming commands and scrambling signals. It was easy to find the controls of the yuzzem’s collars— a convenient system that had been designed to deliver group punishment was easy enough to wholly destroy. Anakin entered the command with grim satisfaction— the remaining yuzzem would be free.

He looked up, still no activity outside the command center. Strange— he would’ve thought his tampering would’ve drawn some attention. Well, soon it wouldn’t matter.

The droid army’s programming was basic— and the Techno Union had the guts to even call itself that. In simplifying their work for mass production, they had degraded themselves to amatuer work, Anakin scoffed.

Every droid had a base program— a base function. The droid would perceive it as a desire or need. It was a simple matter to replace the coding of absolute obedience to CIS command with  _ freedom _ .

“Hey— what are you doing in here?” Anakin heard the tinny voice of a battle droid, a pair of them readying their blasters at him.

Well, it was too late for that. Anakin hit enter on the keyboard and the new code instantly transmitted to every droid on the planet. The desire to have no overseer— to claim self-determination.

The droids posture slackened and they seemed to momentarily reboot. Then they straightened up.

“What . . . what are we doing here?” One asked the other. There was a perplexed tone to its voice that went beyond the mechanical curiosity they were originally programmed with to investigate potential threats.

Anakin activated his lightsaber, slashing the command console. That would prevent any attempts to undo his work. He reclipped his saber.

“Do you have names?” Anakin asked, gently. He remembered the fear in the uncertainty of freedom. The feeling of wanting to return to  _ before _ because that certainty was almost better than the frightening unknown.

“A Jedi? Err, I am B1-3X97,” the first droid said. Its blaster hung loose in its hands. 

“I am B1-4D80. We are supposed to destroy the Jedi,” the second droid added, though he sounded unconvinced.

“I am Anakin Skywalker. I’m not here to hurt you— you’ve been released from your coding. You no longer need to serve the Separatists. You are your own masters,” Anakin spoke, calmer than he felt. Inside, he felt elation rising in him.  _ It worked _ .

The droids considered each other. But, as if on cue, A’Sharad stormed into the tent, his gaffi stick in one hand and torn mask in the other.  _ Wait _ . The mask—

Anakin immediately looked at his face and blinked in shock. A’Sharad looked . . .  _ normal _ . Well, as normal as a man could look with intricate markings tattooed onto his face. But he was human.

“Anakin— we must leave— a part of the Separatist fleet has appeared over Aagonar. With no further reinforcements we have no chance against them,” he spoke roughly. Anakin was struck by two revelations— one, by the quality of his voice without the particle filter— it was lower and softer than he expected— and two— 

_ They lost. _ They were retreating. Despite everything they had managed to accomplish— they  _ lost _ .

Anakin stared at him, uncomprehending. He barely stumble out, “your mask—”

“There’s no time— we  _ must _ retreat. This operation has failed,” A’Sharad said grimly.

Anakin looked around the base. Frustration boiled up in him. “All of these people— the yuzzem, the droids— they’ve been freed. Even with them can we not?”

A’Sharad looked at him and Anakin could see— for the first time— that he looked conflicted. 

“There is no time. Master Ki-Adi has already begun loading our troops onto our ships. The yuzzem and droids . . . will be reenslaved by the Separatists.” He bowed his head. “I am sorry. You did a noble thing today.”

Anakin shook his head. “I refuse to accept that. We came on separate transports, didn’t we? And Master K-Adi brought his own.” Perhaps they had lost the planet. But there were, perhaps not innocents, but victims— of the conflict and the Separatists— that they could help. He began walking for the entrance. “We’re leaving with less men than we came in— surely we can fit some of the refugees on our transports?”

Surprisingly, A’Sharad offered no resistance. “Very well. You’ve made some sound decisions here today, Anakin. I’ll trust you now.” Anakin was surprised by how kind his eyes were.

When they exited the command tent, there were a few droids milling around in a confused manner and several broken droids littering the ground.

Well there were the rest of the droid troops Anakin had wondered about.

A’Sharad looked mildly embarrassed. “It was self defense.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Of course,  _ Master _ .” He teasingly used the title. He felt reinvigorated by this purpose. He turned toward the other droids. “Listen up! We are Jedi with the Republic. You have all been reprogrammed to have autonomy. The Separatists are about to land and they will likely disapprove of this and will reprogram you. If you come with us, we promise you asylum within the Republic!” He turned to the few yuzzem kept in the camp. “The same goes to you as well. You will be safe within the Republic from slavery.”

Anakin winced slightly at his own choice of words. Well, safe as long as they stayed far away from the Mid Rim.

But the battle droids and yuzzem followed them out of the camp willingly. B1-3X97 and B1-4D80 seemed to have done a stellar job on selling their former enemies to their fellow droids and they followed Anakin and A’Sharad. Needless to say, after all the bloodshed and fighting that had been wrought over the planet, it was a surreal feeling. They were losing the planet, yet Anakin couldn't help but feel excited at what they had gained.

There was no way for them to carry all of the people following them in their tiny fighter, but it was easy enough for A’Sharad to comm Ki-Adi with the Separatist comm scramblers disabled.

The Master’s face twisted in comical surprise at A’Sharad’s appearance and words.

“Your mask, A’Sharad— ah well. Refugees? Hm, Knight Skywalker certainly has a way with droids it seems,” Ki-Adi mused, quickly trying to cover his shock. To his credit, he recovered smoothly. “Yes, we’ll send the transports to your position. Prepare to leave the planet.”

“Yes, Master,” A’Sharad said solemnly. When he turned to face Anakin, there was an amused expression on his face. “Another thing I must thank you for, Anakin. It has been far too long since I’ve been able to surprise my old Master.”

Anakin grinned back. “You’ll find I’m a very surprising person, A’Sharad.”

* * *

They were in hyperspace, on the way back to Coruscant. It was a strange sight to see battle droids wandering around the ship, but, really, less than a hundred had managed to escape Aagonar with the Republic fleet and it hadn’t taken Anakin long to check their memories and ensure no failsafes were built-in. Once they’d been screened, the droids were, strange as it seemed, war refugees and asylum-seekers. And, apparently, free to wander the lower-clearance levels of the cruiser.

After debriefing, Anakin was largely free to wander himself. The first thing he’d done was take a gratuitously long time in the fresher, wasting enough water to make several Tatooine settlements weep. But it was worth the utter feeling of  _ no sand _ all over his body.

Afterward, he’d sat down in his room, taking out the japor snippet he’d thankfully remembered to repack before the camp had been abandoned.

When Anakin touched the carving knife to the wood, he didn’t feel the normal shock of connecting with the immensity of the Force. It was . . . calm. He felt himself fall into a trance as he mediated over the latter half of the battle. They had lost the planet, lost Aargonar . . . but, it hadn’t been a complete loss. 

It was muscle memory that guided his fingers, finishing out the beginning designs he had made of the mother’s protection charm symbol. The wood seemed soft under his practiced hands, pliantly carving into the designs, yet Anakin knew that wood from the japor tree were true and would withstand many years of wear.

On Aargonar not all had been lost. The new life bustling on the ship around him was proof of that.

There was a rightness to the Force and as he finished the snippet, and he swore he felt the warmth of a blanket tucked around cold shoulders. The Tatooine desert always did get frigid at night.

Standing up, Anakin took the snippet in hand and left his room. He knew precisely who he would give the snippet to.

Japor snippets were made to be given. The power was in the prayer and blessings imbued in the charm by the carver, with thoughts of the receiver in mind.

Anakin entered the medbay, careful not to disturb the patients. He found A’Sharad in the back, behind a meager privacy curtain— the most space that could be spared. He sat, as he often did these days, watching Bhat Jul’s vitals steadily beep on. Anakin also noted that he had decided to keep his Tusken mask off, though the damage had been minimal from the blasters. After reuniting with the fleet, A’Sharad had shaken off any attempts at giving him bacta for the small head wound, insisting it go to the soldiers.

“Master,” Anakin bowed his head, announcing his entrance.

“Those titles are respectful to a stranger and insulting to a friend. Sit down, Anakin,” A’Sharad greeted him in his normal, ambiguous way. It was still a bit eerie to see his expressions— he seemed to normally fall into a look of wry humor.

“A’Sharad,” Anakin acknowledged him, smiling faintly. “How is he doing?” He sat beside him.

“He’s managing. He’ll be better once we can get him to the halls of healing,” A’Sharad said wistfully. He spread his hands, “as you can see, I am no healer.” There were no weapons on him, his gaffe stick and lightsabers safely tucked away, but it would be impossible to forget A’Sharad’s presence on the battlefield.

Anakin snorted. “Neither of us are.”

A’Sharad hummed. It was more melodic than could have been heard through the mask. “Anakin. I must thank you again— not only for what you did for my Padawan, but for the yuzzem and droids. For me.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow skeptically. He really hadn’t done  _ that _ much—

“Tuskens value freedom above all else— freedom to not be tied down anywhere, yet freedom to settle down where they please. To be secure in the knowledge that they are safe in the sands. Yet today, I did not act as a Tusken should, or a Jedi,” A’Sharad said softly. “You’re impulsive, but you have heart. You treat life as sacred.” 

He rubbed at his face wearily, but there was a sort of wonder, as though he had forgotten what it felt like. “I’ve decided to go without my mask, for now. In this war, I would like to look forward with clear eyes.”

Anakin blinked, surprised at the sudden tears. He was . . . touched. He bowed his head. “I’m unworthy of this praise, Master— A’Sharad. But, I did want to give you this— as my own thanks.” He offered the japor snippet and recognition shone in A’Sharad’s eyes.

But then he turned away. “I am honored by your gift, Anakin. But I cannot accept it.” He looked back at Anakin, who struggled to tamp down the instinctive feeling of insult at rejection.

“Look into your feelings, into the Force— you know that it is not me that you are meant to give that to. Japor snippets are precious, I know this,” A’Sharad said softly.

Anakin wrapped his fingers back around the snippet. “How will I know?”  _ You’ve taught me so much, encouraged me. If not you, who? _

A’Sharad looked toward Bhat Jul, touching the glass of the tank tenderly. “You’ve carved the symbol of the mother’s protection. You will know when you have found the one you wish to protect above all else.”

The Force hummed with A’Sharad’s words. The wisdom of them. Anakin bowed his head. “Thank you.”

* * *

Anakin watched Ahsoka leave. Her shoulders seemed lighter than before— no longer slumped with weariness and fear. 

Anakin looked away from the Padawan—  _ his _ Padawan— to Captain Rex, who approached him. Anakin invited him to join him on the bit of rubble. It wasn’t a half-bad chair.

“Good job in that battle. It wasn’t easy,” Anakin commended. After all, they were surrounded by evidence of the skirmish. 

“And thanks to you for getting that shield down, sir. Though it didn’t come down a moment too soon,” Rex grinned teasingly. Anakin rolled his eyes at him. Over the course of their battles, he’d quickly learned the captain could be quite snarky when he desired it. But he was a good man nonetheless.

Anakin sobered, watching Ahsoka help carry crates of medical supplies with the Force. Her coordination was good, especially with the lightsaber. Though Anakin would have to talk to her about that backhanded grip she used— he didn’t need his Padawan chopping off her own hand.

But she has shown good judgment and quick reflexes. Maybe a bit too enthusiastic to rush ahead, but, well, Anakin had been scolded a fair share for his own impulsivity. 

“Rex, what’s your impression of Ahsoka?” Anakin asked absentmindedly.

“I think she’s got spirit, sir,” Rex said, not missing a beat.

Anakin sighed. Observant as always. “You know, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

He . . . didn’t feel ready to be a Master. To teach someone. Windu was like a father to him, family. Anakin didn’t know if he was ready to let another person in— all just to lose them. 

And part of him couldn’t help but recoil at the thought of  _ becoming  _ a Master.  _ Not a master _ , he reminded himself. 

_ I am Anakin Skywalker. I am free. _

He chose his own fate. Not even the Jedi Council could make him do something he found abhorrent. There was choice.

And when he had chosen to finally relinquish the first japor snippet, to give it to Ahsoka, it was more than him simply acknowledging her as his Padawan. The Force itself rung with the rightness of it. After all, hadn’t Ahsoka been the one to tell him all those years ago _ it’s only when we all work together that we can help the most people. And isn’t that what being a Jedi is all about? _

On Tatooine it was said a mother was always with her child, over distance and time.

Closing his eyes, Anakin felt the Force, felt the life and galaxy around him breathe in and out of his body. And just the faintest touch, he felt fingertips trail against his check, the last whiff of a desert bloom. 

_ She’s gone now. Truly. _

Anakin had relinquished the snippet. But Shmi would always be with him, as the Force was always present.

He stood as the reinforcement transport landed. Out stepped Master Yoda and Anakin bowed to him. They moved to rejoin the others. Anakin smiled.

His family had never left him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: bhat jul died in the comics but damnit this is still a fix-it so happyish ending!!
> 
> also it’s probably very apparent that i have uh.... no clue how computers work. sorry in advance.
> 
> hope you liked this chapter!! comments & kudos are always loved :3

**Author's Note:**

> i'm very smart and made yet another tumblr (dedicated to writing stuff! whoops). come yell at me [here](https://ratpadawan.tumblr.com/) :)


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